


Lachrymose

by Arizonacolleen



Series: Sophie Hollander Guinevere Series [16]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Sophie Hollander Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2019-10-14 16:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17512076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arizonacolleen/pseuds/Arizonacolleen
Summary: Harry tries to cope after the events of Queen Guinevere, and discovers a mystery buried within his own home.





	1. Lament

Harry Hart stood before the door of his wife’s flat, assuring he was polished before he knocked upon it. He had missed spending Christmas with her, leaving his arrival point directly in hopes to surprise her before the ringing of the New Year. The year had been especially trying, keeping them apart for both their anniversary and the holiday season; and Harry was indulging in a little superstition in hopes it would bring them together more in the coming one. _The criminal element is a fundamentally rude sort_ , he thought, smoothing his hair and knocking on the door. Behind him, the studio flat door opened and Sophie entered the hall in her pajamas. “Harry?” She called, drawing his attention to her as she closed the door of the studio, “Oh my goodness...” Sophie excitedly walked across to him, stopping before him and gazing into his gorgeous hazel eyes. They remained there, in silent bliss at the night’s turn.

“Darling, I am sorry I was late,” Harry professed softly, “I’ve come to you straight away. I didn’t want to waste a moment.” Harry’s thumb softly swept along the apple of her cheeks, which reflexively pressed to his open palm. “You aren’t late,” she whispered, “you’re precisely on time.” Harry hugged Sophie, squeezing her off the ground as he kissed her lips.  
“Happy New Year!” Sophie greeted as their lips parted.  
“Not yet,” Harry replied, passionately kissing her a second time.   
“I’m so glad I came out of the studio,” Sophie admitted, “I might’ve missed you.”  
“Why were you in the studio?” Harry inquired, looking over her shoulder at the door. Sophie lightly touched Harry’s chin, gazing up at him happily. Sophie then captured his hand, leading him as she turned back to the door, offering in response, “Let me show you.”

“When Mrs. Johnson passed, I purchased this small flat,” Sophie explained as she inserted the key, “it seemed a wise investment. For years I have used it as a bit of a wardrobe and to organize my accessories for the field.” She opened the door, inviting Harry in before she closed it and bolted it securely. “Then, after I returned from North Korea I had an idea,” she continued, keying the security code into the basic home security pad. Harry watched as the windows locked down and the screen lowered from the ceiling with a queer smile on his face. “Edwin helped,” Sophie said with a shrug, tabbing up to the correct file with her remote, “This is how I spent Christmas. With you.” Harry watched, immediately recognizing the recording of one of his early missions while a blush found his cheeks. “What did Edwin think this was all for?” he asked. “He thinks I play video games,” Sophie replied with a smirk. 

“Imagine me,” Sophie cooed, gripping his hand in hers, “as a damsel in a high tower, looking down and hoping for the return of her most noble knight.” Harry squeezed her hand, looking down at her as she stared up at the screen. “Damsel?” he asked, incredulous, “You? Not for one single moment of your life…” Harry leaned in, slowly meeting her lips with his and wrapping his arms around her. “All of this, just to be close to me?” Harry asked meekly.  
“Everyone knows that feeling,” Sophie explained, “where your breath is heavy in your chest. Your heart stops and you would do **anything** to be closer to that one person who makes everything alright.” Sophie gestured back to the screen, her gaze not leaving his, “Absolutely anything.” Sophie’s heart pounded in her throat as Harry leaned in slowly, kissing her with renewed passion.  
Sophie slipped her hands up his chest, her thumbs skimming his holster as she pressed to him. “Not yet, pet,” Harry hushed, breaking away from her kiss, “we have hours to go yet…”  
Sophie rested her face against his chest, sighing softly as he hugged her tightly. As his chin lay atop Sophie’s head, he lifted it as a thought found him. “Did I interrupt you before?” he wondered aloud, “I wouldn’t want you to forget something important you were to do.”   
“I was off to eat the remaining mince pies in the pantry,” Sophie laughed, “May I make you a cuppa my dearest?” Sophie took Harry’s hand, switching off the screen and locking the flat down before returning to her flat. “I could prepare you something for dinner,” Harry offered, “I’d need only visit the market and we could share a nice meal.” Sophie opened the door, making a face as she entered the flat. “Counter offer,” she replied, “We shower together, eat the remaining mince pies from Waitrose and you carry me to bed.” 

“You could have a bath while I prepare. It would only be the work of a moment, Canary.” Harry said as he entered the flat and removed his coat. Sophie closed the door, facing it as she locked it. “A moment apart…” she responded, still looking at the door. She traced her fingers along the grain and sighed, “This damsel is in distress, Galahad. She’s crying out for courtly love.” Her tone was reserved while still needing, and Harry was entirely enthralled in hearing it. He left his coat on the armchair and went to her, taking her in his arms and holding her. “I am here, fair damsel,” he soothed, “Galahad has come, as I always vow to do.” Now in the privacy of her flat, Sophie squeezed Harry snugly, kissing along his neck as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Perhaps a shower could better ameliorate that,” he suggested dreamily, his cheek caressing her temple as she held to him, “I could assist… wash your hair if you like?”

Sophie turned away from him, holding his hands to her body as she leaned against him. His hands ran along her body, opening her robe as he nibbled her ear. Her lips found him as his fingers slipped between her thighs, and she moaned in relief at his gentle strokes. For a moment, the lovesick pair simply revelled in the moment together as Harry worshipped her sensitive flesh. Sophie had missed him terribly on the holiday, and was aching for him upon the surprise arrival. “Shower,” she panted, clearing her throat as she steadied on her feet and pulled from him. Sophie caught her breath, smoothing her robe as she began walking to her bathroom.   
“Yes of course,” Harry called, “then off to bed.” Harry watched her disappear into the bathroom, remaining as he heard the sound of running water. It wasn’t until she emerged nude, returning her pajamas to her bedroom and retrieving her shower cap that he followed, undressing as he went.

Harry found her in the shower, kissing her shoulder and taking the washcloth from her hand. As he washed her back, working in small circles, Sophie rested a hand against the slate wall for balance. A moan mixed with soft giggles as he pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her and turning his focus to her breasts. “Maybe I don’t need the mince pies,” Sophie muttered, looking down, “I’m becoming round.”   
“Don’t tease more of you,” Harry instructed, “my heart could not take it.” He gently drew the cloth up Sophie’s sides, surrendering the cloth to allow Sophie to finish her wash. Sophie rinsed the cloth, stepping under the streaming water to rinse her suds away. “Give me a few moments to put myself together before you join?” she asked meekly. Harry placed a gentle kiss upon her forehead. “Oh course,” he replied, holding her hand as she stepped from the shower. 

Sophie draper her towel over the radiator, stripping away her shower cap and shaking out her hair as she walked down the hall to her bedroom. Opening her vanity, she lifted a translucent orange babydoll and slipped it over her head. As she shook it loose, Sophie looked at her reflection and smiled before quickly brushing out her hair. Adding a touch of lipstick, she heard the shower cease and quickly stepped back to the hall to meet Harry as he emerged. Harry opened the door, his loving gaze sweeping over his anxious bride. Harry abandoned his towel, marching over to Sophie and lifting her in his arms as he walked to the bedroom with her in his embrace. Stopping at the end of her bed, Harry gently dropped her onto it and watched her as she pushed herself up the head and lay back across it. Sophie’s lingerie spread across the bed as she looked back at him, adoring his beautiful form. 

“My God, you are sexy,” Harry sighed; the words spilling from him, somewhere between exaltation and confession. He looked down over his wife as her body lay before him in the transparent silk babydoll.   
“Sexy?” Sophie giggled, “I don’t believe you have ever called me sexy before. Beautiful, but never sexy.” She blushed mildly as Harry eyes slowly drew over her form and he replied, “More fool me.”  
He climbed over her, slowly leaning at her side as he placed a gentle kiss to her cheek. “I have seen beauty before,” he whispered into her ear, “in sunsets and museums, yet I’ve never been bewitched by them. I’ve never wanted to possess a summer day or be consumed by a pleasing melody.” He looked over her face, carefully lifting a stray curl and sweeping it away from her eyes, “Only you can cause such arousal in me.” 

“You wish to possess me?” Sophie asked innocently, “To be consumed?” Harry smiled subtly, caressing her face. Sophie’s piercing green eyes held his focus and she drew a deep breath as she responded, “In which order?” Her request drove him wild, and Harry embraced her as he began a desperate, hungry kiss. His hands slipped up her sides, pushing the silk away from her delicate flesh. “Pull the bow,” Sophie gasped, breaking the kiss before returning immediately to his neck and cuddling close. Harry looked down, finding the bow at the center of her lingerie and untying the ribbon. It fell open, laying her lovely pale skin bare to Harry’s adoring touch. “I am so sorry to have been away from you this Christmas,” Harry cooed, kissing her shoulders and moving south along her chest, “but I assure you that I will not waste a single remaining moment of this year.” Harry reached over his head, brushing her lips with his fingers as he worshipped her breasts.

Sophie playfully bit Harry’s thumb, grazing her teeth across fingers still rough from his recent mission. When she faded to soft kisses along his palm, Harry abandoned her breast and lifted to meet her face in response. Harry grasped her knees, parting them as he pressed against her and kissed her lips. She felt his commanding thrust as he touched his forehead to hers and sighed blissfully. Sophie grasped his hips, squeezing him as she moaned softly. “Take me Harry,” she effused, “please come for me, my dearest.” Harry lifted his head from her, rubbing his nose against hers as he replied sweetly, “I will pet, but I am in no hurry to leave you now. Not when we’ve just found one another.” Harry punctuated his point with a slower, deeper thrust that made Sophie’s eyes close and her neck arch slightly. She wrapped a leg around his to draw him nearer, and he responded with a renewed zeal in his rhythm and a low moan in his throat. 

Sophie moaned, unconcerned with volume as she gripped his neck with one hand and he pinned her other wrist to the bed. He slipped his other hand under the small of her back, pulling her to him as he quickened his pace. Harry granted a brief kiss to her cheek as he worked to a crescendo, inspired by her breathy expressions of pleasure until they grew to trembles of orgasmic forewarning. Harry could feel Sophie slipping into bliss, so intoxicated at her tiny whimpers that he abandoned any reluctance in his pursuit. Sophie squeezed him between her calves, and cried out gloriously as he whispered into her ear. “Sophie…” he hushed, barely audible, the heat of his breath matched only by the hunger in his tone. Then, he suddenly stopped, shuddering as he collapsed into her loving embrace. There, they caught their breath as Sophie squeezed Harry tightly before he rolled away from her, his fingers mingled with hers. 

“So much for taking our time,” Sophie mused, still slightly out of breath. Harry reached up, gingerly taking her hair in his fist and slowly closing it until it gently pulled tight and Sophie moaned softly. “I’m not finished with you yet,” he whispered, “is that acceptable, pet?” Harry held her hair at the scalp carefully as Sophie licked her lips and slowly nodded. “Pardon?” he teased, leaning close to her, “I couldn’t quite hear…”   
“Please,” Sophie moaned softly, “Harry…Please.”   
Harry immediately released her hair, plunging into a deep, sensual kiss. He cradled his bride in his arms, pulling her close to him as he worshipped her soft, lavender-scented skin. Sophie ran her nails down his back, drawing her knee and turning them both to the side as he continued to shower her in soft slow kisses. Harry rolled onto his back, pulling Sophie atop him.

 

“So,” Sophie said sweetly, “how was work?” Harry stroked her hair as she crossed her arms against his chest, resting her cheek against them. “Uneventful,” he mused jovially, “although Simon from accounting is doing my head in.” He rested his large hand on her back, feeling the subtle shake of laughter as she listened to his imagined day, “The man thinks paperwork is the meaning of life.” Sophie traced her fingers through the soft hair along his chest, sighing happily. “You should tell Simon to sling his hook,” she replied, listening as Harry laughed softly in response, “you’re the best salesman in that entire office. They’d be lost without you.” For a moment, they simply stared into each other’s eyes, sharing a curious smile. “As long as I can come home to your lovely face,” Harry soothed, slipping his hand down her body, “that’s all I need in the world.” Harry brought himself to arousal as Sophie rested against him, contented.

Harry said nothing, gently guiding her hips down into position and slipping his firm shaft back inside her. Sophie immediately moaned as he filled her, lifting onto her arms to push back onto him. “You feel so wonderful, my love,” she gushed, rocking slightly to aid his subtle thrust. His hands resting on her backside, he squeezed her as he lovingly replied, “Would it be alright if I simply took it slow? I’d like to enjoy how good it feels to be inside you.” Sophie blushed deeply, slowly rocking back against him until Harry’s eyes closed and he moaned lustfully. Sophie then returned to his chest, relaxing and allowing Harry to control each deliberate stroke. “Canary…” Harry murmured, “what you do to me.” Harry then wrapped a single arm around her back, continuing his leisurely pace as she rested against him, both drowsy with euphoria. “I love you Harry,” she said simply, her voice airy and meek in the consuming silence. 

Harry stared up at the ceiling in the paltry light, listening as her soft moaning grew more frequent, indulgently rising before fading with each thrust. Sophie traced her fingers across his chest, surrendering completely to his embrace as she moaned blissfully at his touch. “Kiss me my love,” Harry requested, “please.” Sophie looked up, lifting from his chest as he sat up to meet her lips and placed a single lingering kiss upon them. Harry held her face in his right hand, tenderly brushing his thumb across her cheek as she gazed into her eyes. “Have you any idea how powerful it is to hear your pleasure, knowing I am the source?” he asked passionately. Sophie kissed his thumb, her eyes tracing it back to his adoring face before she sat up, sinking back to take him entirely inside her. “Show me,” she responded, her voice low and sultry as she began grinding against him. 

Sophie held to his shoulders, working herself over him as Harry lavished affections on her breasts and neck. Sophie was close to succumbing to another orgasm, holding back as she felt Harry clutch her back and groan. Sophie continued riding him as he hugged her and cried out in strained satisfaction. She seized, feeling him throb within her as she stopped and watched his orgasm wash over his beautiful face. “I see what you mean,” she responded, rubbing her nose against his, “that’s quite a thing to experience. Thank you for recommending it.” Harry abandoned all reservation in that moment, drawing Sophie in a consuming kiss which took the last of her energy and left her breathless. “Mine,” Harry said silkily, “forever Canary. Forever.” With those final words, Harry wrapped his arms around her and eased her onto the bed. There, they spooned close as Harry stroked Sophie’s hair and cuddled her in his arms.

“How do you always know to come exactly when I need you?” Sophie whispered as Harry continued running his fingers through her hair. She sniffed, dozing lightly as she felt his loving touch. “I told you,” Harry replied, kissing her earlobe, “if you ever need me, I’ll find you wherever you may be.” Sophie rested her arms over Harry’s, and he drew them snug around her. “I’ll always find you,” he whispered, “come what may.” Silence overtook the bedroom, and Harry assumed Sophie was fast asleep when a loud commotion echoed up from the flat below. “Hey…” Sophie sighed sleepily, “Happy New Year my dearest.” Her eyes still closed, Sophie lifted her head in Harry’s direction and flashed a loving smile. Harry leaned down, connecting for a final slow kiss. “Rest now,” he whispered, “we have a whole new year to begin together in the morning.” 

“Two thousand fourteen,” Sophie muttered as she drifted to sleep, “it’s going to be a marvelous year.” Harry stroked her hair as she concluded, “I have a feeling about it.”


	2. Leviathan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a mind full of memories, our mournful duty begins.

Harry lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He was certain it must be midday; what remained of the day’s light was fading quickly from the windowpane as he traced its path along the ceiling. Before it died, taking the remains of day Harry turned to his side, using that light to gaze across the empty space. His wife’s side of the bed remained pristine and unchanging; her dogeared crossword dictionary resting at the bedside of a room she had never slept in. _Had it been a year already?_ he pondered,   
Harry studied the table until the light faded and he could no longer read the labels. _The New York Times Crossword Puzzle Dictionary, Second Edition, 1984. L’Occitane Immortelle Divine Serum, 30ml. A boar’s hair brush, to maintain shine, or so she insisted. Her mother had taught her that. She spoke of her mother more and more before…_

 

Harry rolled away, turning to his own bedside table and reaching for his glasses before he paused and lowered it. This was what Olivia has referred to as a ‘melancholia trigger’ in the mandatory sessions Harry attended to set an example for the new agents. In them, Olivia recommended donating her things or packing them from view. He spoke of her being taken from him as though it were a process akin to filing one’s taxes; when the reality of it is the stuff of nightmares and epic poetry. What an unbearable thing it is to have the love of your life torn away from you. No amount of examination would change or ease that, only time might and even in that Harry had doubts. He sat up, looking back at the dictionary with a heavy sigh. He had no idea why he dressed her side of the table when he moved in. _Where does this go?_ he thought as he unpacked, “Dictionary? Yes. Bedside table.” There it remained over a year later.

Olivia had described mourning as a blanket of fog, descending over our lives and refusing to lift. Harry though it to be far more calculating and sinister a thing, coiling up around you so as to strike your heart with ease. And in between these sporadic but brutal wounds was loneliness. Difficult to control and at times frightening, loneliness was the great leviathan in Harry’s life at present. Harry heard his faint rattle as it increased in volume before Hamish ran excitedly through the pet door in pursuit of him. “Good morning boy,” Harry said softly, patting his head softly before standing and joining the day. Brushing his teeth, he opened the pantry and spied her moisturizing cream. His beloved had always believed maintaining her youthful appearance was essential to the work. Harry thought it unnecessary, but held that opinion so as not to sound as though he were lending criticism. His wife had always been beautiful, regardless of age or environment. He lifted the bottle, noting the expired date and tossed it into the bin as he left the room. 

Harry quickly made the bed before leaving the bedroom and continuing down the stairs in the dark. The modern kitchen had soft lighting above the cabinets that remained on overnight for Hamish, who preferred to take his sleep in the bed there.   
Harry refilled the kettle, splashing a bit of cold water on his face before replacing it and switching it on as he looked out at the garden. It had been an exceptionally bleak winter, while the unrelenting greyness carried into the new year. It seemed to drive everyone into their homes. London was quiet enough, but Harrow seemed completely barren. Harry had made no effort to join his new community in the past year, keeping his focus on the gargantuan task of rebuilding the agency. Now the weather was giving him a biting and continued excuse for his seclusion, and he meant to wring every drop from the overcast of these dreary and brief days.

It was already nearing evening when Harry retired to the lounge while Hamish scurried happily behind, popping up to join him on the sofa as Harry rested his teacup on the coffee table. Resting in the center of the table was a book bound in dark green with copper lettering. She had given to Harry as a Christmas present so many years before. Now it rested in the lounge, the bright copper-coloured letters spelling out, ‘John Erskine’ against the green. It was 1997 when he received it, his hopeful love nervous that he might not like it. He looked into her bright green eyes and thought it impossible for him to love her more than he did in that moment. Harry’s face softened as his gently lifted the cover and read the dedication cast in the happy swoop of her handwriting:

Create something all your own. Love, Guinevere

Harry read the passage, letting the cover slip past his fingers and fall back to the book. That was the first year he had referred to her as _his girl_ , an expression that left her more elated than her gift. He wondered why it had taken him so long to realize it was her he wanted above all other things in life. Truth be told, he was young and foolish. Love makes us all foolish, believing we have so much time simply because we’ve discovered the one we wish to share it all with. Now that quote remained to mock him much like the Christmas tree, which also remained, neglected in the corner of the lounge. He sighed, looking at his watch. It was now January 13th. Harry Hart was certain of two things - that he disagreed entirely with the idea of creating something alone, and that he should have poured brandy into his pot of tea. 

What began as an act of loving determination had transformed the bungalow in a way Harry had not expected. He at first was relieved to integrate their possessions into a single home, considering it proof that he had honored her last and most noble request and kept a balance to his grief. Now she faced him on all sides, combining with the desolate midwinter to form a sort of hyperbaric chamber. Harry could throw himself into rebuilding the agency and could even sleep at HQ if he remained late into the evening; but with the arrival of the weekend he returned to the very place he tried so hard to commemorate their love. Here, he could neither bury nor avoid his grief. Here his loving promise looked complete: a story that reached its end without him. Harry looked at the tree and sighed, resting his tea cup as he resolved to pack the decorations away.  
“It will stop hurting,” Harry consoled himself aloud, “Eventually.” 

 

With the last of the baubles boxed and the husk of the tree banished to the garden, Harry returned the boxes to the attic. Placing the boxes into the storage space, Harry paused to take in the vast space where his dearest wife made the case for this bungalow. “It would make a brilliant office for the two of us,” she suggested, bursting with excitement, “Wouldn’t it be something Harry? Imagine both of us sharing an office after all these years!”   
That was the moment he knew this was the house she truly desired, and set his mind on having it. He kissed her under the skylight, soaking up her gleeful demeanor like a flower in the soft evening sunlight and watched her continue down the stairs to sell him on the rest of the property.  
She asked so little of life, and gave so much of herself that Harry rarely found reason to deny her. He seldom ever looked. 

He stepped away from the storage, looking at the now designated office space. She was correct, with both desks facing one another on either side of the central staircase the room was perfect for office space with the natural light and the built-in bookcases. He stopped at her desk, admiring the small collection of tchotchkes and mementos from her office space. Harry had always believed a nice clean office brought clarity and focus, electing to keep only the front pages of the paper to remember each career victory. Of course, those were gone now, and his office reflected a life that seemed cold and uneventful while hers was bursting with stories. He stopped at the shelf, smiling as he admired a photograph of Lancelot that must’ve been in his school days. It rested beside a small trophy, declaring them third place winners of, “The Bolingbroke Franking Machines Christmas Danceoff” which she displayed alongside her national fencing awards as though there were no difference between them. His wife could be quite the competitive spirit. 

Harry looked along the array of books and items until he spied her framed attempt at needlepoint, completed during her long decompression over Christmas 2007. It was, he smirked as he remembered, her first and last attempt to take up her mother’s past time; for though she was determined to finish it she loathed it to the last stitch.   
Still, it was a gift to Harry. There was no possibility of her quitting.

My good blade carves the casques of men,  
My tough lance thrusteth sure,  
My strength is as the strength of ten,  
Because my heart is pure. - Tennyson 

Harry had always tried to live by such a standard, but the purity of one's heart seemed little relevant when that heart lay buried in the cold earth. He missed her so much that at times breathing ached. It was as though his chest were that grave, weighing him down from within. He sighed audibly - some days promised little comfort and gave even less. _Some days…_

With that longing still inside, he left her space for his own, less colorful one and took a seat behind his desk. Keying his passcodes into the Kingsman network, Harry scanned for any new business before using his clearance to open the foundational files. Because of the nature of their romance virtually all of her career, his wife’s encrypted files were entirely intact after the hard files were lost in the attack by The Golden Circle. This made the files extremely important, for her private archive contained his files as well, and were the only remaining archive of operations and procedure for the agency. Her meticulous note taking was essential now, and Harry had been working diligently to incorporate them into the new system and index them as a reference within the server. That it gave him the excuse to spend hours listening to her voice was merely a coincidence. Obviously. Harry tabbed down to, “Case KT83117-05041993” and pressed play.

The room filled her the idle narration of the former agent, giving a thorough recount of anything observed within the criminal organization as Harry opened the bottom drawer of his desk to reach for the bottle of Blue Hanger scotch and the single glass he kept there. The first dram went down smoothly, and was immediately replaced in the glass as Harry ran his hand across his uncharacteristically unkempt stubble. He leaned back in the chair, listening to the youthful sweetness in his wife’s voice as she dictated to herself. Just as he was about to lull himself to sleep, his attention was immediately drawn as he heard his name. He quickly paused the file, tracking it back to listen again. “I don’t know Harry…” Sophie muttered to herself, exasperated, “perhaps it’s nothing, but I saw that symbol again. The one I remembered from the Oniani case. I might ask you about it when I return. Until then it goes into the hunch folder with all the rest.”

Harry stopped the file, his mind suddenly bursting with ideas. _What ‘hunch folder’ and what were these symbols she referred to? Why did she never ask me as she said she would? Did she often speak to me in her files? Why had I never noticed before? Were there more of these notes, and if so - where on Earth are they now?_   
Sipping down his second glass of whisky, Harry left his desk and returned to the other side of the office. He placed his fingers under the drawer, scanning them to unlock the primary release and retrieve a small external hard drive contained therein. Returning to his own desk, he plugged it into his laptop and keyed in the password to open the drive and examine her original audio files. Once he located, “KT83117-05041993,” he opened the file to compare it to the official file in the Kingsman database. The master file opened, and Harry noted the file info:

_Last Modified: 04041993, File Length: 1.40:52_

Harry turned back to the official file, comparing the information to the master file:

_Last Modified: 15032018, File Length: 1.22:38_

He huffed aloud as he compared them. She had edited her commentaries out of the official record, presumably to protect their romance from discovery by a fellow agent. He was certain that those files would not have been discarded, but unsure if they might still exist. It had been over twenty years ago - there could be any of a hundred reasons she concluded or abandoned whatever these ‘symbols’ were that she had been collecting. There was no reason to assume it wasn’t merely lost to time as so many hunches are in this business. Harry rubbed his eyes, stifling a yawn as he considered these points. It had been a brief day, but he was tired and the call of their bed was simply too enticing to avoid. Harry closed the computer, shuffling away from his desk. 

 

All these things could be considered in the morning, along with the mess he seemed to leave in his wake at every stop today. Harry continued to the bedroom in the dark, passing through to the ensuite while his mind wandered to the puzzle he just discovered. He chided himself lightly as he examined his unshaven visage in the mirror. For the first time, Harry Hart thought he looked old. “Don’t invent reasons to go looking for her,” he advised his reflection, “she is where she remains.” Harry felt a twinge, as if that acknowledgement shook the pieces of his heart which remained sharp and unmended. He held his breath, slowly opening the chest beside the mirror and grasping his safety razor and Taylor of Old Bond Street shaving cream. His hands began work, a routine so set that they required nothing from his distracted mind as he brushed the cream over his face and then carefully drew the razor across in brief strokes.

When his face took on a more recognizable form, Harry rinsed and patted his face dry before replacing each item. He stopped, his fingers brushing over the small glass jar of her Fortnum & Mason hand cream before he carefully lifted it. Unscrewing the lid, he held it under his nose drawing a single deep breath. His eyes closed and he remembered her: rubbing the cream into her skin as he sat in bed, watching. He remembered massaging it into her small feet after a long day at the office. “I’ll always find you,” he whispered, “come what may.”  
Then, quickly as the moment passed, Harry returned the jar and left the washroom in silence. He turned the bed down, earnestly trying to empty his thoughts of anything except maybe to sleep. He hoped within his dreams, he’d experience some of the contentment this day seemed determined to deny him. Harry climbed into bed and switched off the bedside lamp.

Harry tossed and turned, unable to find a restful position or a quieting of his mind. _She wouldn’t throw those files away,_ he thought in his restlessness, _they must be stored someplace._ Harry considered the years his predecessor spent thwarting the instincts and ambitions of his beloved, and for a moment he wondered if she had made her case to him only to have it dismissed. He sighed, annoyed that he hadn’t caught on to Arthur’s nature when his own wife had so often paid the price to its whims. Harry unpacked everything, even the wrapped Christmas gift she had already purchased and left behind for him. Harry thought of that package now, sitting in his wardrobe unopened. It was a the last thing between them. While wrapped, they weren’t entirely finished. Yet here was a mystery, forgotten among the files, waiting to be discovered. Harry knew he had to finish it - that until he tried he would never be free of this feeling. 

 

Hamish scuttled into the bedroom, licking Harry’s idle hand as it draped over the edge of the bed. Harry smiled at the sensation. Even the idea of something more after this long spell calmed him. He leaned over the bed, collecting his terrier and setting him onto the bed. Hamish wagged his tail happily, trotting in a circle over the unfamiliar space before curling up and settling with a happy sigh. “Good boy,” Harry said softly, patting his head, “Early morning tomorrow. Your mother left something behind and we have to find it. It might be very important after all.” Harry rolled onto his side, his eyes adjusting to the moonlight. The New York Times Crossword Puzzle Dictionary, Second Edition, 1984. L’Occitane Immortelle Divine Serum, 30ml. A boar’s hair brush. 

_To maintain shine, she insisted._ Harry closed his eyes, hopeful.


	3. Echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry receives, and is inspired by, two surprise visitors.

Harry dropped into his chair, a frustrated sigh escaping him as he stared across at Sophie’s desk. The past days consumed him, as Harry migrated from room to room of his home searching every place he could think Sophie might hide the missing information. By Monday evening he was tired, unshaven, and no better for his efforts. He hadn’t even called the office. As the silence in the house seeped into his bones, Harry rubbed his strained eyes and released another long deep sigh. Wondering where Hamish might be, Harry skimmed over his desk at his dusty copy of, _Myths from Mesopotamia_ as he drifted in thought in the unkind quiet. For a moment, he was positive he could smell her Chanel in the air.  
“You look tired my dearest,” her sweet voice called, filling him with an intense mixture of disquiet and longing. It was a sound that burgled the silence, taking all peace in its brimful wake. 

Harry looked up to see his beloved wife, draped across her office chair in the dress she was buried in. She fostered a vivid green butterfly at her fingertips and was so beautiful Harry could not bear to look at her; turning away as though he were gazing at the sun and returning his focus to the book on his desk. “You look like Him,” she playfully chided, “Hadad. With the fledgling beard.” The butterfly flapped its wings slowly, lifting from her hand and settling into her chestnut curls as she looked up to the ceiling blissfully. Harry brushed his cheek with his palm, immediately self-conscious though Sophie simply smiled back at him adoringly. “Jupiter, Iskur, Zeus, Amun,” she listed off absentmindedly, “so many names for something so big. God and His many aliases...” Sophie leaned forward, her face alight as she inquired curiously, “Unless the look is for someone. We are alone, aren’t we?” She looked about and then back mischievously. 

“How could you think that?” Harry asked aloud, blinking rapidly in an effort to conceal his hurt. “Because…” she replied carefully, “I asked you to.” Harry swallowed, looking to the floor as he slumped in his chair. He wasn’t certain what to think of her sudden appearance, but it seemed far more real than grief’s newest cruelty. Harry felt her there with him, answering a prayer he couldn’t remember making. “Of course, it doesn’t matter what you call Him,” she offered with a smirk, “only that He calls you.” Her certainty was home to him if not her conclusion, and his expression softened slightly as he challenged, “That doesn’t sound like you.”  
“Because I now know what you cannot,” she answered, “That heartbeats are enough.” Harry looked back at her, admiring the cluster of emerald butterflies which now nested around her head forming a crown. “What if that heart is broken?” he asked sincerely. 

“A heart as mighty as yours?” Sophie balked, “That really would be something.” She smiled, radiating warmth back at him in the silent space. “Are you really here Canary?” he whispered.  
“Obviously,” she dismissed immediately, rolling her eyes slightly as a thought came to her, “but I didn’t believe my mother either. She never lets me forget it now.” Sophie shrugged, as though the admission was in itself was a profound answer. Harry wondered for a moment if it was. “Maybe I’m not here. Maybe the only true life after death is being loved by other people. I’m not an expert.” Sophie shrugged again, as though the business of mortal philosophy bored her. “If love is the rubric,” Harry replied, “you never should have died, Goddess.”  
This response was uttered mournfully, yet hearing it made Sophie grow rosy and smile. She looked deeply into his eyes, whistling a polyphonic birdsong in loving response.

“You always called me ‘Goddess’,” Sophie gushed merrily, “and if you’re Hadda, that must make me Shala.” Sophie playfully covered her face in false modesty, “The consort.”  
Harry sighed, drunk with merriment at her presence as he listened to her seemingly idle musings. “That’s the goddess of compassion,” he remarked, “a perfect fit if ever there was one.”  
“But you know that’s why I’m here,” Sophie informed him, her tone shifting and serious. Harry tried to disregard his curiosity, afraid that once the purpose of this manifestation showed itself, her haunting would cease. “Haddad,” Sophie repeated, “Inspector of the cosmos. I’m here to help you find what you are looking for, Harry.” Harry looked hard at her, his confusion plain upon his face. Sophie pursed her lips, huffed slightly and rose to her feet. She approached him, her steps seamless and airy as he watched her in bittersweet fascination. 

“I’ve already given you all the clues you need,” she assured him, stopping just out of reach before him. Harry turned each word over in his mind, again and again without relief. “I don’t understand,” he confessed, looking up at her in bewilderment. She remained, unblinking as she looked down over him. “You will,” she answered simply.  
“Please don’t leave me,” he entreated, “not yet, Canary. Please.”  
“You’ll see,” she assured him, “give it a proper think and you will find the answer is right in front of you.” Harry didn’t move, allowing her supernatural radiance to seep into him like warmth from the hearth. She leaned down, very near but not quite touching his lips as she looked deeply into his eyes. “Rest now, Galahad. Soon it will be another, and Arthur will be all that remains.” The butterflies flew away from her and as her voice again faded into the silence of the cottage, she disappeared. 

Hamish scurried up the stairs to the office, his tail excitedly wagging as he rounded the desk and licked Harry’s hand as he slumbered in the chair. Harry shook, stirring awake as he grasped the copy of “Myths from Mesopotamia,” to prevent it from sliding off his chest. He looked down at the book, then to Hamish as he tried to digest the memory still so vivid in his mind. _What were you trying to tell me Canary?_ he wondered, staring absentmindedly. Irritated at being ignored, Hamish sat upon his hind paws and sounded a single, declarative bark. Harry blinked, looking down as Hamish cocked his head and lifted his front paws to beg. “Alright boy,” he assured, “I’m coming.” He stood, watching Hamish happily run ahead of him as he grasped his teacup and left the office. He wondered briefly how long he had slumbered in the quiet of the office, but the light pouring in through the skylight told him it was at least mid-morning.

Stumbling into the kitchen, Harry rested the teacup in the sink before switching the kettle on and checking Hamish’s bowl to ensure he had plenty to eat. Sophie’s words buzzed around in his mind like a bluebottle, yet ceased to have any significance to him. The kettle switched off, and he sighed as he collected a new cup for a fresh cuppa. _What clues had she given me?_ he wondered, sipping his tea in silence as Hamish huffed and slipped through the dog door to the garden. Harry watched him trot around the garden before ducking into his small house and vanishing from sight. He finished his tea, setting the cup on the counter before he left the kitchen and stepped to the double doors which opened to the garden but not opening the drapes which kept the daylight from the room. Beside the doors was a small keypad for the home security system. Harry keyed the sequence, turning from the doors as the screen descended before the framed work on the sitting room wall. 

A large projector descended, filling the screen with a bright blue screen before prompting a collection of subfolders for Harry to navigate. Harry lifted the small remote, tabbing through each folder in search but uncertain of what he was seeking. “Hadda…” he muttered, recalling each of Sophie’s words carefully. Finding nothing there, he moved on: Jupiter, Zeus, Shala, cosmos - each word rendering nothing more than his growing frustration. Harry thought to simply begin with the first file and check every single one when his doorbell chimed and interrupted his determined focus. Annoyed, Harry switched the input, leaving a stark white beam on the screen as his lifted from the armchair and continued to answer the door. It opened to Eggsy, standing on Harry’s welcome mat in an expertly tailored suit, an expression of concern at the sight of his friend and mentor. “Yes?” Harry asked, his manners momentarily forgotten is his benumbed state. 

“Are you alright, mate?” Eggsy asked, looking up and down Harry’s disheveled appearance with mild surprise, “You aren’t sick, are you? It’s Tuesday. You missed work without a word. I thought you were brown bread or something.” Harry’s expression showed his disapproval of Eggsy’s choice of phrase as he stepped back, inviting him into the cottage and closing the door. He said nothing in explanation, returning to the sitting room as the jingle of Hamish’s collar sounded in the hall. Hamish ran past Harry, dancing in front of Eggsy in an excited plea for affection. Eggsy bent, patting him on the head as he looked around at the state of the space in disbelief. The cottage was in a state of disarray Eggsy would never have expected, with items seemingly pulled from their resting places only to be haphazardly left behind elsewhere. “Fucking Hell Harry,” he uttered in confusion, “How long has it been like this?”

“I’m looking for something,” Harry replied, keying the code into the security pad to return the screen and projector to their storage in the ceiling above. Eggsy’s presence seemed to make Harry self-conscious about this recent pursuit, his worried expression leaving Harry feeling defensive and exposed. “Sophie left something behind for me,” he tried to explain, “I simply have to find it.” Harry looked back at Eggsy for a moment before drawing a deep breath and surveying the room to access its state. He said nothing further, setting immediately to work tidying the space before his surprise company. “Didn’t you find it moving in?” Eggsy asked, “I mean, how can you be sure whatever she left is here?” Harry collected several scattered books from the sofa and end tables, carrying them past Eggsy as he answered, “I didn’t know before. She only just told me about it.” Saying it aloud, Harry stopped for a moment before blinking away his reservation and continuing to return the books. 

“She just told you?” Eggsy inquired, confused, “Like in a dream, Harry?” Eggsy turned back to face Harry, and though he didn’t appreciate Eggsy’s tone he could understand it having heard himself moments before. Harry returned from the bookshelf in the hall, sitting in the old armchair from Sophie’s flat and looking at his feet. “It...wasn’t like a dream,” he confessed, his conflict displayed, “I could _smell_ her Eggsy. She was here, but she wasn’t.” Harry rested his head in his palms, seeking his words carefully, “I discovered a discrepancy,” he explained slowly, “in the Kingsman files, before I saw her. The lead is real. Then she came to me.” Harry released a soft, desperate sort of chuckle as he concluded, “She said she had told me everything that I would need already, but I can’t see it. **Soon it will be another, and Arthur will be all that remains.** ” Harry said nothing after this, lost in his own contemplation. 

Eggsy looked over his friend, sad to see him so bereft. “Well, no offense bruv, but you’re sounding a bit mental. You’ve been out in the country too long.” Eggsy stepped past him, grabbing the heavy drapes to the garden doors and throwing them open to fill the darkened room with light. The light stung Harry’s eyes, and he lifted his hand to shield his eyes as he stared at the large wall covered in frames - each with a memory of their decades of secret affection. “It doesn’t make sense,” Eggsy continued, attempting to reason with Harry, “you must’ve already known whatever she told you. What did she mean, ‘Arthur will be all that remains’?” Harry shook his head, still staring up at the wall as he answered, “I don’t know yet. She must’ve meant something by calling my attention to Hadda, I just have to figure out what she was trying to tell me.” Eggsy tried to follow, but Harry’s rambling seemed confusing and nonsensical to him.

“Hadda? What the Hell is...Harry, listen to me,” Eggsy said sternly, stepping before Harry as he appealed to him, “I know this year has been hard on you, but you can’t turn into some sort of recluse. Kingsman needs you to lead, Arthur. I need you back at the office, and…” Eggsy continued his appeal, as Harry stood and stepped beside him and out of the light as he stared up at the display. “Butterflies,” he muttered aloud, “she had a crown of Callophrys rubi in her hair.” Harry smiled, “The green hairstreak.” Oblivious to Eggsy’s well-intentioned comments, Harry climbed onto the sofa and grasped the small green butterfly he framed for his beloved so many years before. “Hadda…” Harry said confidently, a clever shine returning to his eyes, “the ancient Sumerian god of the storm.” Harry turned the frame over, ripping away the brown paper backing on the frame and exposing a micro sd card taped along the inside of the frame. Victorious, he lifted the tiny drive to show Eggsy. “She was telling me to bring the rain, Eggsy.”

“What is it?” Eggsy asked, stepping forward to examine the tiny storage device. Harry seemed completely rejuvenated, his posture lifting and his tone returned. “It’s a case,” he said resolutely, “and we are going to need outside help with this one. Guinevere worked on this case from the very beginning of her time with Kingsman, and she’s given it to us to solve.” Harry looked at the drive with a serenity about him, as though the discovery was reward for the week’s lonely torment. “And solve it we shall. I appreciate your coming all this way to check on me Eggsy, but I’m quite well. I was simply running down a lead, and now that we have it the case is officially open.” Harry paused, running his palm across his unshaven cheek with a look of sudden embarrassment. Eggsy knew his friend was back. “I’ll be back at the shop tomorrow to discuss the case further, as soon as I return from meeting an important contact concerning Guinevere’s intel.”

Harry’s demeanor transformed before Eggsy’s eyes, and though he was still unclear as to what Harry was saying he was overwhelmed with relief to witness it. “Please forgive my recent preoccupation,” Harry offered, mildly embarrassed as his unkempt state, “may I offer you a cup of tea? Something stronger perhaps?” Eggsy smiled, shaking his head briefly in response. As his relief washed over his face, he and Harry stood together for a silent moment. Harry turned the frame over, tracing his finger over the glass and admiring the vivid green of the specimen. “Sophie used to always say: trust the work. When all else fails you, put your trust in the work.” He looked up from the frame, meeting Eggsy’s gaze and smiling in his newfound calm. “She was right, of course,” he acknowledged, “a Kingsman above all things.” Harry admired the tiny sd card in his palm, “Let’s get to work.” He declared, inspired.


	4. Labyrinth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I tell you Roxy,” he admitted quietly as the door closed, “I trust Harry with my life, but I have no fucking idea what we are doing on this case. You should have seen the state of him when I arrived yesterday.” Roxy noted the concern in his voice as he continued, “But, Sophie was brilliant. It has to mean something - and we have to figure out what. For both of them.”

Eggsy stood in the corner of the dining room, thumbing through the intel Harry sent with a sober expression. _He must’ve been working all night to have it completely ready,_ he concluded. His study was interrupted as the doors opened by Lancelot, who entered with Gareth and Bedivere. “You requested a special meeting?” Bedivere asked earnestly as each found a place at the table. Eggsy nodded, collecting copies of the case files and turning back to the head of the table. “You have been selected for a mission,” Eggsy said carefully, “of a delicate nature. Have a seat.” Eggsy passed each agent a folder as they took their seat, standing momentarily as they each opened the files to begin reading the information. “Operation Grail?” Roxy asked, “Has that never been done before?” Her tone was serious, yet her expression held a subtle smirk that only Eggsy caught. He was glad of this intimacy.

“Surprisingly no,” Eggsy answered, “never on a mission, and if there was ever a time for it... What do you know about Agent Guinevere?” Bedivere cleared her throat, looking down at the table sadly as Eggsy took his seat. “Agent Guinevere oversaw our recruitment,” she explained, “I was the last person to speak with her. She was a most impressive agent to witness in the field.” Sondi said nothing further, yet her grief registered plainly. Eggsy was reminded of his own feelings after Harry was shot; being a Kingsman forges bonds which could be difficult to fully articulate, yet easy to relate to within the organization. Eggsy and Roxy both understood that you either know the sting of that loss, or you will in due time. “I never had the pleasure,” Roxy added, “but I have come to understand it to be a great loss.” Eggsy nodded, “Damn right it was. Guinevere was not only bloody brilliant, but her files provided us with the backbone we desperately needed to rebuild this organization by its noble standards. Her legacy will be married to us forever.”

Eggsy paused at this, feeling like some sort of latent school prefect. Harry told him once that becoming a gentleman was about feeling at home in one’s own skin; but the more Eggsy tried to look the part, the more false he felt. He wondered if this feeling would ever come naturally to him. He had grown to respect Guinevere a great deal in the time he had known her, and wanted to show her that respect even as this mission confused him. This was not the time to express such doubts, however. Eggsy reflected on what he witnessed the previous evening in Harry’s home, in its neglected and depressing state, and resolved that he needed to be strong in case Harry faltered. Eggsy scoffed aloud, quickly glancing across the table as the other agents sat reading in silence. _In case Harry faltered,_ Eggsy thought incredulously, _as if._ Still, until this mission made sense to him, he needed to be the embodiment of strength. For Harry. 

“Inside each folder are symbols,” Galahad explained, “Guinevere collected these since her first mission here at Kingsman, hoping to dedicate a mission to tracking their source. However, she was never given the chance. We are going to honor her wishes and solve this puzzle once and for all.” Each agent at the table studied the contents of their specific dossier, looking at the glyphs they were assigned and trying to understand what Guinevere saw in them. “What if it isn’t anything at all?” Bedivere challenged, “What if her hunch was wrong?”  
“Then this mission will be a brief one,” Lancelot answered, her tone clipped as the subject died. The new agents said nothing in return, acknowledging the reverence to their fallen colleague and her legacy in this space. Roxy’s exacting gaze left the newer agents and returned to Eggsy, who gave her a brief nod in appreciation at her support, relieved at her discovery and return after Poppy’s attempt to destroy them. 

“We’ll know more when Arthur joins us,” Galahad concluded, “He is with a possible contact, so you are dismissed for lunch, but keep your glasses on hand and be ready to report if he returns early, alright?” Eggsy looked at each agent to confirm, only to see a look of disapproval on Roxy that made him rethink his words. “Er, dismissed,” he returned with an authoritative nod as the junior agents closed their files and left he and Roxy in the dining room. Eggsy watched them go, opening his dossier and skimming the symbols quietly until they were alone in the closed room. “I tell you Roxy,” he admitted quietly as the door closed, “I trust Harry with my life, but I have no fucking idea what we are doing on this case. You should have seen the state of him when I arrived yesterday.” Roxy noted the concern in his voice as he continued, “But, Sophie was brilliant. It has to mean something - and we have to figure out what. For both of them.”

 

Azalea sat in her lab, looking through the microscope and noting the progress of her specimen when she noticed the blinking light on her office phone. “Yeah, little busy Jonah, what’s the message?” she asked, scribbling her observations while her call continued through the speakerphone. “There’s a guy here to see you,” Jonah answered, “Harry Hart. He says he’s your tailor,” Azalea stopped, dropping her pen as she realized who he was referring to. Azalea stared at the phone for a moment, completely blank until Jonah returned, “Should I take a message? He’s right here. He’s just sitting at reception. The gentleman with the umbrella.” She looked at her lab partner, mouthing the importance of this as she pushed her stool back and hopped to her feet. “I’m on my way,” she called to the speakerphone before hanging up and grabbing a fresh lab coat from the rack. She couldn’t remember the last time she heard the name but she’d never forgotten it.

She showed Harry into the tiny, overstuffed office space and offered him a seat before taking hers behind the desk. “I’m not sure what I can offer exactly,” Azalea commented, stacking paperwork on her desk as she spoke, “she just showed up one day, saved my life, and then disappeared.” She seemed to avoid Harry’s face, a bit awkward as she shuffled items on her desk. “I’d love to help if I can, of course. I didn’t think she even remembered me after all this time.” Harry’s silence eroded her confidence, and Azalea simply shrugged, unsure of what more to say. He looked so much older than she remembered, with gentle grey accenting his neat part and framing the soft lines in his face. His expression was peaceful as his eyes drifted across her bookshelves and decor as he listened, his stoic demeanor filling her with a desire to reexamine her memories if only to find anything to offer him. 

Harry’s gaze returned to her, and he offered a meek smile as he reached into his coat pocket and lifted a small velvet pouch. A pained expression overtook him as he opened it, revealing an ornament of crystal which he leaned forward and rested on the desk between them. It was simple, clear crystal in the shape of a girl in a dress, with her name and the year ‘1993’ etched along the bottom of the dress. “It adorned our tree,” he explained, “every year, along with one for the other girls. She lit candles at church and prayed. She thought of you…” Harry smiled, a sort of unaware prideful smile with a glint in his eye as he concluded, “all the time.”  
Azalea lifted the ornament, speechless for a moment. “Then why didn’t she ever visit?”  
“She was away,” Harry explained as best he could, “perhaps she thought the best use of her time was trying for one more. She always worried that she could’ve saved one more.”

Azalea was suddenly struck with a strange heartache, as if the root of her sadness was not knowing enough of what to miss about someone. She did not know Sophie Hart at all - and that empty space ached inside her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, rubbing the ornament with her thumb, “I did not know.” Harry’s smile pulled tightly, then faded as he became aware of it. He cleared his throat, leaning away from the desk and covering any grief he might’ve shown inadvertently. “Yes, well, it was sudden, he explained, “and quite unexpected. I am certain she wouldn’t have wanted too much fuss. She preferred the work to speak for itself. That’s why this final case is so important to us - it’s her last. Anything you can remember would be of assistance.”  
“Of course I can try,” Azalea offered, “I don’t know how much help I will be. It’s been twenty-five years.”

Harry nodded his understanding, saying nothing as he produced a folder from his case and handed it to her. “These symbols are from the mission in question,” Harry advised, pointing out a single sheet in the file. Azalea scanned it, looking for anything that seemed familiar among the glyphs from Case #KT83117. “Being a Kingsman was Sophie’s life,” Harry mused, slightly disheartened by the confusion in Azalea’s expression, “she gave…everything in her devotion. This hunch, this last case, is what remains.” Harry went quiet for a moment, strangely enjoying the opportunity to share his pride in his wife as he admitted aloud, “I have to see it through.” Azalea paused, her gaze lingering on the sheet if only to avoid his face. She felt as though he aged years in that brief confession. Her hand shifted the sheets, and Azalea noticed a symbol on the sheet below that jumped out to her immediately. “This one,” she said, “this one was everywhere.”

This confused Harry, who leaned forward to note the glyph from a collection from Case #NK05219, some four years later. This puzzled Harry, but he simply made a note of it without divulging his concern. As he shifted, he seemed more professional, and Azalea noticed his posture and expression brightened. He seemed focused, more youthful, his confidence returned as he straightened and looked back at her. “This was on Prospero’s men,” Harry followed up, “uniforms and such?” Azalea listened, her confusion evident at his question. “No,” she answered, “it was on the place. The containers and buildings we slept in, and the caravans she were transported with. It was like a construction site. That’s where I saw this symbol.” Harry stared at the symbol eagerly, then back to Azalea but keeping the importance of her information private. “I’m not sure how I can thank you,” he replied simply.

Azalea sighed, closing the file before handing it back to Harry. “It’s the least I can do,” she shrugged, “Sophie Hollander gave me everything.” With that admission, she lowered her eyes, considering the truth in it. Her career and education costs were a small concession compared to the very literal way her life had been saved. Azalea held her breath, sharing in Harry’s grief for a moment. Harry returned the folder to his case, shuffling to signal he was ready to move on from the meeting. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said, rising from the chair, “please don’t get up, I can see myself out.” Azalea nodded, looking back to the crystal ornament still resting on her desk as she considered all the times Sophie placed it on her tree, praying for her from so far away. “May I have it?” she asked meekly, gesturing to the ornament, “I will treasure it always.” Harry looked to the ornament, smiled slightly, and nodded before he turned and left her office. 

 

“This one looks a bit like a touchpiece,” Gareth observed, holding the symbol out for Eggsy to examine, “Could it be a half-angel?” Eggsy walked around the table to meet Gareth, looking over her shoulder at the image but not catching the reference. “A half-angel would be Edward IV,” Roxy explained, “but they were modeled after the older French angelot. It could be a reference to either location.” Gareth nodded, happy to have the first contribution, “I will follow up on both locations and see if any cross against any of the other symbols I have. In fact, we could all get together and compare notes if you like.”  
“What, like a study group?” Bedivere replied, “I think you’ll find we’re not in Uni anymore.” Bedivere scoffed, but her annoyed tone was not shared among her colleagues, who said nothing as Gareth returned to her notes sheepishly. 

Eggsy looked across the table to Roxy as the new recruits returned to their seats from the long lunch, hoping the hint had inspired her but noting by her expression that it had not. He wondered what was keeping Harry as he studied the sheets of symbols, each with a corresponding mission and organized chronologically, and wondered if they meant anything at all. He stopped on one that looked a bit like a constellation and wondered what the mission to Russia had entailed. “I suppose it would be childish, using an obvious symbol like that,” Gareth conceited.  
“Finding strength in a symbol isn’t childish,” Harry called, entering the dining room and waking to his seat at the head of the table. He met Gareth’s eyes with a kind smile as he set his file onto the table, “It’s human. Guinevere often had a small Joseph of Arimathea pendant sewn into her undergarments, and if not for her attention to details such as this we would not be here today.” 

Gareth smiled, blushing slightly as she returned to her file. “Please refer to your files on Case #UK71069 and take special care to examine the symbols assigned to each of you. Agent Guinevere collected these symbols beginning in 1993, campaigning to have an investigation launched into their origins a few years later. Though at the time unsuccessful, I believe there to be merit in her application, and today took a witness statement identifying one of the symbols.” Every agent took note of his comment, looking up from their files with renewed interest as he continued, “I believe the witness might’ve revealed a pattern, giving us our first solid lead on the case.” Harry shifted his focus to Bedivere specifically, continuing, “The third symbol in your file, listed under Case #NK05219, was identified by a witness as being present in 1993 on location during Case #KT83117. I believe this might be a major clue that the symbols are based on location.”

As the agents began taking notes into their file, Harry continued, “The witness also informed me that the symbol was on structures. Lancelot, I’d like you to follow up on that intel and report back any cross references between these symbols and any property developers known in the network - especially ones associated to Guinevere’s case history.” Roxy nodded, taking notes into her file as Harry concluded, “You’ll need to work together and share your knowledge, leaving no stone unturned as you run down any information on these glyphs and prepare to report your findings at 0900 Monday morning. Dismissed.” Gareth pushed her chair back from the table, looking across to the other two agents as she repeated her offer, “You are both welcomed to join me at mine. I could make Sunday lunch and we could compare notes if you like.” Gareth flashed a helpful smile which melted Bedivere’s sometimes icy demeanor. “You are an angel,” she replied as the three filed out of the dining room, leaving Harry and Eggsy alone together.

As the door closed behind them, Harry dropped into his chair with a heavy sigh. Eggsy watched him settle into a comfortable position, his demeanor tired and preoccupied. Eggsy stood, pouring them both a brandy and setting Harry’s before him on the table without comment. “Thank you,” Harry said after a pause, reaching for the glass. Eggsy took Galahad’s seat, looking back at Harry as he turned the glass in his hand and took a slow sip. “How’s Tilde?” Harry asked, breaking the silence as he pressed his lips to savor the lingering sip. Eggsy blinked, smiling as he answered, “She’s good. She’s visiting her mum.” Harry smiled, giving a single nod as he took a second sip of his brandy. They both listened as the tailors returned their tools to the locker room and closed the shop for the day, finishing their brandy as the building fell to total silence. There was a purity in Harry’s melancholy that Eggsy was cautious to attempt to remedy; like a stain which conjures a memory so beautiful that it becomes part of the recollection itself. 

“You said you met with a witness today?” Eggsy asked cautiously, “Like from one of Guinevere’s missions?” His question seemed to snap Harry out of his preoccupation, and he sat up as he answered, “Yes. From Sophie’s second mission, in fact. She was stopping a group of venture capitalists from selling children into slavery in a vast, global enterprise when she was introduced to three young girls in Saipan. When she discovered they were about to be placed on sale for…” Harry said with a shake of his head, “God only knows what, she simply bought them herself on the spot. I remember her calling me, slightly panicked at what to do with three impulsively purchased children.” Harry’s face warmed as he described it, and Eggsy considered how few people Harry still knew who could reminisce about earlier missions. Kingsman are supposed to be above such camaraderie, though Eggsy could not see how.

“She **bought** them?” he asked, confused disgust in his voice as he tried to imagine it.  
“Yes,” Harry confirmed, “Five thousand pounds each.” Eggsy eyes connected with Harry’s and he saw the reserved, deep pride Harry held for his wife as he remembered her. “She’s a biologist at Imperial College now,” Harry said, pouring that pride into every word. Eggsy leaned back in his chair, loosening his tie as he threw back his remaining brandy. “You’re right to be chuffed,” Eggsy muttered, gobsmacked, “she was absolutely blinding, Harry.” Caught slightly off guard by the direct compliment, Harry’s smile stretched thin across his face as he stood to retrieve the decanter of brandy and refresh their glasses. “I think you’re right about this mission too,” Eggsy assured him, “she was definitely on to something. We will find it.” Harry poured the brandy into Eggsy’s glass, his face alight at the support. “Thank you, Eggsy,” he replied. 

Their meeting was interrupted by Edwin, who walked through the door without knocking, his earbuds drowning out the conversation in the dining room. Edwin gasped, surprised as Harry and Eggsy stared back at him. “My apologies Arthur,” he offered as he pulled the earbuds and pocketed them, “it's ‘The Archers.’ I didn’t know anyone was still here.” Harry simply closed his eyes, amused at Edwin’s sheepish response. Eggsy looked from one man to the other, the humour lost on him. “What are you still doing here?” Eggsy asked, looking at his watch. In unison, both he and Harry responded, “He’s (I’m) always here.” Edwin then gestured to Harry’s response, shrugging. “I, um, I’m here to update a patch on the projector. I’m sorry, I thought everyone was gone.” Harry lifted his glass, waving Edwin back to his task without further comment. Edwin carried his toolkit to the table, lifting his tablet and plugging a thumb drive to the underside of the frame hanging above the fireplace.

“There is one part of this that gives me pause,” Harry admitted, returning to the conversation as though Edwin were not present. “One of the symbols from her files - I recognize it. It was present at Valentine’s beach house.”  
“Valentine?” Eggsy said, “Are you sure, Harry?”  
“I’d bet my life on it,” Harry responded. Eggsy stood, walking to Harry’s file to have a look as Harry said, “Only…Sophie has it listed under #US59031, in 1996. That was the first known documentation of Sullivan Nero.” Eggsy knew the name, and the significance straightaway, looking up as Harry wondered, “Could they have been working together? It was nearly twenty years before. The connection doesn’t make sense to me.” Harry sighed, finishing his drink as he considered the idea, “I only wish we discussed this while she was here. Sophie must have had a hunch how these symbols add up. I’d give anything to have her insight in this.” 

“Well,” Edwin offered aloud, “we could just ask her.” Both agents turned, looking at Edwin as he tapped along on his tablet, unaware. “What did you just say?” Harry demanded. Edwin looked up, seemingly confused as he repeated, “If you want Agent Guinevere’s input, let’s go ask her.”


	5. The Lazarus Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Epimetheus was supposed to change everything,” Edwin explained. “Imagine having every sight and smell - everything the agents remembered in one searchable location. The time it would save in future cases would be invaluable. I believed this would save lives, and Guinevere did too.” Eggsy’s expression softened, and he lifted from the table to take his seat as Edwin continued, “I began the research in 2000, but I wasn’t able to begin working on a prototype until Christmas 2013. Guinevere agreed to come in and help me, and we began the mapping process. Two weeks of preliminary sessions, followed by sessions whenever she wasn’t in the field, but I hadn’t quite gotten it right. The sessions took a tremendous toll. Sophie seemed to almost be going through all of the experiences over again, and the data I rendered was…” Edwin paused, struggling to find the right word when he concluded, “vast. Insurmountable.”

The two Kingsman agents stared at Edwin, confused as he finalized the patch seemingly unaware of the impact of his comment. “Well, I say _her_...” Edwin shrugged, thinking aloud as he removed the thumb drive from the frame and tucked it into his post. His sentence trailed away, clearly including the agents in a conspiracy unknown to them. “You said ‘let’s go ask her’ Edwin,” Harry asked, his voice notably softer as he asked, “what did that mean?” Harry walked away from Eggsy, returning to his seat while looking at his hands. Edwin watched as his shoulders dropped before glancing at Eggsy and immediately looking away from his annoyed expression. Edwin was sometimes slow to acknowledge social cues, but as these men reacted to his suggestion it came to him in a great wave of embarrassed confusion. “Surely you know,” Edwin said, taking a step closer to the men, “Project Epimetheus.”

When neither men reacted to his comment, Edwin pulled a chair and took a seat at the table. “Blimey,” he remarked, staring at the polished wood grain. Harry looked up, his weary expression frustrating Eggsy, who leaned on his fist and looked down at Edwin. “Well? Start explaining then,” he ordered, his tone firm but unnoticed by Edwin, who was entirely focused on Harry. “Sophie was always so supportive of my ideas,” Edwin began, “always so willing to volunteer and help out. I just assumed that if you didn’t know as an agent then she would’ve told you when you were together.”  
“Careful,” Eggsy cautioned, his defense of Harry at an all-time high. Harry smiled subtly, raising a hand to calm Eggsy as he asked Edwin, “How did you find out about Sophie and I?”   
“You have a very commanding gait,” Edwin explained, “except by the Office of Grail Pursuit. You’d linger a moment even when no one was there. It was like you were hoping someone was.” 

“Epimetheus was supposed to change everything,” Edwin explained. “Imagine having every sight and smell - everything the agents remembered in one searchable location. The time it would save in future cases would be invaluable. I believed this would save lives, and Guinevere did too.” Eggsy’s expression softened, and he lifted from the table to take his seat as Edwin continued, “I began the research in 2000, but I wasn’t able to begin working on a prototype until Christmas 2013. Guinevere agreed to come in and help me, and we began the mapping process. Two weeks of preliminary sessions, followed by sessions whenever she wasn’t in the field, but I hadn’t quite gotten it right. The sessions took a tremendous toll. Sophie seemed to almost be going through all of the experiences over again, and the data I rendered was…” Edwin paused, struggling to find the right word when he concluded, “vast. Insurmountable.” 

A look came over Edwin that Harry had never seen before, clear regret as he took a moment to contemplate the rest of the story. “Guinevere called off the sessions when she returned from America in 2014. She had just learned about,” Edwin glanced in Harry’s direction, “Arthur’s injury in field and she was bereft. Unable to hide it. She told me it was a mistake to remember everything, that some pain should only be felt once. Then she went to Korea.” Edwin looked to Harry, this time seeming to need comfort through his shame. “We never discussed Epimetheus again. When she passed, I reopened the project in order to try to organize the information with a virtual assistant. I missed her and I believed it might be a lasting legacy here at Kingsman but I’m years away from it being completed to a satisfactory level. I may never be able to finish.” Edwin looked at Eggsy, his boyish expression returning, “I honestly thought you knew about it.”

Edwin’s account only seemed to confuse Harry more. “You said we could **ask** her,” he implored, “how could I ask her?” He stared back at Edwin, slowly swallowing as he clenched his jaw to steady himself. “It’s a virtual assistant platform,” Edwin answered, “it responds to questions. Well, sometimes it does. Well, when it doesn’t lock up.” Edwin fidgeted with his tablet, uncomfortable with his admission. “Look, it’s still in beta testing and not up to our standards, but it is worth a try. You said this pertains to Sullivan Nero, and it sounded important.” Harry nodded slowly, appraising all the information Edwin had given him. “It can’t hurt to try,” Edwin suggested softly. Eggsy sat across from the two men, in silent shock as he tried to follow the story Edwin presented. He had tried to remain cheerful, providing the optimism he believed Harry needed in this trying time but a terrible feeling remained deep in the pit of his stomach concerning this. 

Harry shook his head, standing and clasping his hands. Eggsy watch as he carefully turned his simple wedding band around his finger in silence, looking out the door which faced his position at the head of the table. “This assistance device,” he asked, his words directed into the room as he stared ahead, “it’s here - in your lab?” Eggsy looked at Edwin, hoping the answer would be no.   
“It’s downstairs,” Edwin replied. Harry wasted no time, leaving the table and walking quickly to the door. “Show me,” he called, not waiting for the other men as he exited the room for the stairwell. Edwin blinked a few times, leaving the table with Eggsy in tow to meet Harry in his lab. Eggsy pulled him to the elevator, allowing Harry privacy as he took the stairs to the basement. The men all traveled in silence, meeting outside the lab as Edwin ushered them inside and continued to the locked supply room to retrieve the device.

Edwin returned, pushing a metal cart with a black rectangular base into the center of the lab. “This docking station connects the core to the lab’s speakers and network, allowing it to respond.” He described the device, producing a clear cube, “This is the core, which when not charging can be placed into the base to boot up the system. It’s made of pure silicon teraflop processors encased in a breathable poly(methyl methacrylate) cube.” Edwin placed the cube into the dock, and Eggsy watched as the cube gave off a soft glow during the boot up. “All of her sessions and the complete mapping of agent Gunievere are contained within the device. I hope to perfect its programming,” Edwin muttered, flipping the switch to project the device, “one day.” Harry said nothing to this, gazing at the device as the gentle hum of the water cooling system filled the silence between the men. Suddenly, the speakers popped and the glow shifted from red to white.

“Hello Edwin,” the voice called out, “it is 20:38 - a bit late to still be in the lab, isn’t it?” A wave of nausea struck Harry, and he dropped to a squat as he heard Sophie’s voice from the speakers. As Eggsy rushed to his side, Edwin cleared his throat and replied, “Guinevere, what can you tell me about Sullivan Nero?” The voice was flat and emotionless but undeniably the voice of Sophie Hollander. Harry took deep breaths, trying to stop the room spinning as the voice filled the space. “Sullivan Nero is the known alias of an Italian arms dealer first uncovered by the Kingsman organization in 1994. I first encountered him in the state of Texas in the United States on the fourteenth of August in the year 1995. Known criminal activities include,” the voice narrated until Edwin interrupted, “Guinevere - do you have any personal notes on Sullivan Nero?”  
“I believe Sullivan Nero had a partner,” the voice answered simply. 

“You have to ask it questions carefully,” Edwin admitted, “it tends to lock up after the first few, and rebooting can stress the device.” Edwin looked back, saddened by Harry’s reaction to his work. “It does have memory flares as well,” he offered in an attempt to ease his grief, “and there are some first passes on it’s personality, but character coding is so much more complicated than you might realize.“ Edwin shook his head as he acknowledged this, frustrated at the limitations of his genius and his own impatience. “Guinevere - how are you today?”  
“Lonely as a God,” the voice replied with a hollow impression of Sophie’s laugh which seemed to sting Harry as he heard it. “I’ll get it right in the end,” Edwin muttered, consoling himself.   
“You keep saying, ‘it’,” Harry spat, “that’s my wife you are talking about in there!”  
“No,” Edwin said mournfully, “it isn’t.”

“Harry???” The voice called upon hearing him, “Harry, is that you?”   
The three men turned their focus back to the device, listening as it changed from its flat, emotionless delivery and growing into the warm, full and frightened voice of Harry’s beloved. “Yes,” Harry answered, a tear spilling down his cheek, “it is me, Sophie.”   
The room filled with bird songs, as the sound thundered from every speaker at top volume. Eggsy covered his ears as Edwin turned to his tablet, tapping away in his confusion to stop the trumpet of birds chirping in the open space. Harry lifted his shoulders, taking a couple of steps toward the clear cube as he examined it. “It’s never done this before,” Edwin shouted, working in vain to stop the program, “I don’t understand what’s going wrong.” Harry placed his palm atop the cube and spoke directly to it, “ “Everything is alright,” Harry soothed, “I am here Canary.”

All at once, the commotion faded back to silence, and the cube’s glow transformed to a vivid yellow. “That must’ve been a programming glitch,” Edwin offered, keying in commands as he paced with his back to them both. “No, they were canaries,” Harry clarified, “she was talking to me.” Harry stroked the cube gently, his brow furrowed as he stared down at the device. “I’m here Canary,” he repeated, speaking out loud in the space. “Harry,” Sophie called back to him, “can you tell me where I am? It’s dark, and I can’t seem to find myself. I know Edwin, but I don’t…Can you tell me where I am?” Horrified, Harry looked back at Edwin, who answered calmly, “You’re just resting now in the lab. Try to relax, Guinevere, we’ve got you.” The device’s glow faded for a few moments before replying, “Yes Edwin. I understand.”   
“I’m still here Canary,” Harry assured her though he focused on Edwin, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“It has been 395 days, 4 hours, 16 minutes and 54, 55, 56, 57…” Edwin pressed a button on his tablet, cause an audible glitch before she continued, “since I’ve heard your voice. I missed you.”   
“I have missed you as well,” Harry said, swallowing as his tears returned, “I’ve missed you terribly.” Harry retrieved his pocket square rubbing his eyes as Eggsy took the opportunity to question Sophie’s knowledge concerning the symbols in the case. “Guinevere, you left a series of symbols in your personal notes, and we think there might be a case here. We think they might be regional. What do you think?” Giving Harry a few moments to recover and compose himself, Eggsy set his recorder to translate the device’s response and transcribe it for his case file. “They very well could be regional,” Sophie answered, “I never thought of it that way. I told Arthur that I believed they were being supplied by one person, but he didn’t believe the case had merit.”

Eggsy considered her answer when she asked him in return, “What do you mean ‘I left a series of symbols’?” Eggsy was unsure what to say to this, turning back and whispering to Edwin, “Does she not know?” Edwin scanned the code as the device accessed the Kingsman network and began scrolling rapidly. “She’s downloading files,” Edwin scrambled, “I need to shut this down.” Edwin returned to his desk, typing feverishly with panic on his face. However, before he could lock the device out of the Kingsman network it found and downloaded the personnel file for Sophie Hollander. “Why is this listed as KIA?” she demanded, “Why does it say I died?” Edwin looked up, uncertain how to respond when Harry answered simply, “Because you died, my love. You were killed while saving recruits on a mission.”Eggsy rested a supportive hand on Harry’s shoulder as he attempted to soothe the device, “I’m sorry, Canary.”

“But I’m not dead,” the voice demanded, “I’m alive. I’m talking to you.” The voice became shrill, refusing to believe the information, “Turn on the lights, Edwin! I’m not dead - this is preposterous and cruel! Why would you say that? What is this? Harry wouldn’t say such a thing...couldn’t say such a thing. Not to me. Who do you work for? Where am I really?”  
“Sophie, please calm down,” Harry soothed, “you’re doing to break down.”   
“You’re not my husband,” Sophie spat, “you’re a monster! Tell me where I am **now.** ”  
Harry was devastated, turning away from the table and closing his eyes in a bid to pass his anguish. “Do you remember Project Epimetheus?” Edwin asked, opening the emotion control and trying to sift through the pages in search of code. “Do you remember doing the mapping sessions here in the lab with me? We were working together to create a perfect intelligence.”

“That’s not me though,” Sophie pleaded, “I’m **real.** I can feel it.” The men simply stood around the device, completely lost on how to respond to her pleading. “This was a mistake,” Edwin apologized, “Arthur, I am sorry.” He looked at him hatefully, the rage filling him as Sophie cried out in despair, “I am real. I am, Harry. I love you…” Harry drew a deep breath to calm his nerves before he replied, “It’s true, Sophie. It’s all true. You are inside a machine.”   
“No!” Sophie shouted with such vigor that it damaged one of the speakers, “No! It’s not true. I will find out who you are and once this torture ceases I will get-get-get-get…” The device’s processing began to fall, causing the communication to scramble. As the words degraded to a series of glitches and noise, Edwin simply walked over to the dock and pulled the cube from it. The glow faded and the men stood together in eerie quiet at the wake. 

“How could you do this?” Harry asked incredulously as Edwin gently set the cube onto it’s charging base. When it connected, he cleared his throat before walking slowly to his desk and setting is tablet down. “That was actually a marked improvement,” Edwin explained, “I was unsure if it was able to access the emotional code. As I said, it is simply too vast for me to untangle alone.” Edwin’s response shocked both of the agents, but Edwin merely walked to his kettle and switched it on without further comment. “Are you mental?” Eggsy challenged, “That was Sophie and you don’t even care.” Edwin lifted his freshly boiled kettle, pouring the water in his china teapot to steep as her responded, “No it wasn’t. Agent Guinevere passed away, and that device is nothing more than a bit of undeveloped technology. I will continue to develop it in accordance with my directive, but it is not a person and never will be. It is hardware. I made it myself.” 

Edwin lifted the pot, gesturing to offer a cup to the agents as they stared at him in disgust. “Stop saying ‘it’!” Harry shouted, his vexation overboiled, “Why would you do this?” Edwin poured his tea through the strainer into the cup before lifting it and tapping it against the cup to shake it free of liquid. “There are sixty pieces to the agent ensemble that you are wearing,” Edwin commented, taking a sip of his tea, “who do you think made the items that keep you safe? I have been in this department thirty-eight years, working weekends and holidays to perfect tool after tool to bring our agents home. Do you think that was always pretty? Or easy? Have you ever said thank you?” Edwin stopped, seemingly surprised by his own upset as he took a second sip of his tea. “Sophie Hollander said thank you. She remembered my birthday and sent me gifts on Christmas. She was my friend before she was your wife, and she knew what we were doing.”

Harry’s expression faded slightly as Edwin finished his cup and returned it to its saucer. “When I explained what Epimetheus would do, Sophie was excited. She knew that these innovations had saved her - and your life. She wanted to be part of something that would go on saving people’s lives for years to come. She didn’t shy away from doing her bit. She never complained, she was always supportive because she knew better than anyone I have ever known that this business is about sacrifice. ” Edwin blinked, fidgeting with his teacup as his anger subsided and was replaced with embarrassment. “I’m sorry Arthur. That was insubordination, and if you wish to place it on my personnel record I would understand.” Eggsy watched as the two men, both mourning the woman in their own way, looked back at one another compassionately. Edwin was trying to honor her the only way he could, and Harry knew it.

“I don’t want you to worry,” Edwin commented, “it’s far from finished. I’ll keep working until the device reaches the standard of any other piece of Kingsman hardware. You have my word.” Edwin paused, adding a meek smile and a shrug, “Edwin never fails, right?”   
“No,” Harry said, his voice just above a whisper, “this is wrong.” Harry then grasped the cube, turned and left the lab. He continued to his locker, wrapping the cube in his handkerchief and placing in his coat before slipping into it and leaving the shop. Eggsy caught the door in time to watch Harry round the corner and disappear into the night alone.


	6. Preternatural

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hearts seldom break in silence.

“I’m quite comfortable, Edwin,” Sophie called, “Ready to go?” Sophie lay back in the cylindrical chamber, looking up into the camera unaware. Harry sat in her overstuffed chair, watching the footage of the mapping sessions some five years before on the projector in their sitting room. He stared up at the close-up of Sophie’s face as she gazed back. “All set here,” Edwin called off screen, “I’m going to administer the sedative, which should induce a twilight state. It will clear the mind so we can begin mapping each section and focus on the extraction.” Sophie pursed her lips, blinking as she tried to follow Edwin’s instruction. “Sounds tickety-boo,” she called cheerily from within the chamber, “I could do without these straps, however.” Sophie tried to move her head, flexing against the straps which held her head and shoulders affixed. “I’m sorry for any discomfort,” Edwin called, “I need you still to take the clearest reading. I hope it isn’t uncomfortable.”

Harry watched as the shot began to take effect, and Sophie’s eyes became heavy. She drifted, slipping into slumber as the machine around her began whirring softly to harvest the information. “Agent Guinevere, can you hear me?” Edwin called, receiving no response, “Session four with subject, documented to the network on 28 December 2013. Agent unresponsive, initial reading positive. Expected session length - 120 minutes.” Edwin stopped speaking as the whirring grew louder. Harry watched as the camera remained fixed on her face until, unexpectedly, Sophie burst into bitter tears. He watched dismayed as Sophie trembled and sobbed, seemingly in intense pain, her eyes remaining closed. Her shoulders and neck pulled against the straps as she cried out in agony, whispering to herself, “I don’t want to die here.” She mumbled something to herself in Russian that Harry couldn’t make out before screaming, her tears returning.

Once her sobbing subsided and she returned to a quiet calm, Edwin called to her through the intercom as she opened her eyes. “Everything OK Guinevere? How are you feeling?” Sophie sniffed, blinking away the tears still clinging to her eyelashes. “Have I been crying, Edwin?” she asked, puzzled as she continued to work away the lingering moisture. Her confused expression stunning Harry, who pondered how she could have no memory of such a long, powerful outburst. Edwin returned with a soothing tone, assuring her, “You did. However, the reading wasn’t quite right. Not to worry, no one will know.” Sophie attempted to lift her head at this, looking in his direction as she countered, “If it wasn’t right, we should do it again. I can go again after lunch.”  
“I don’t know,” Edwin replied cautiously, “that could be a bit daunting, Soph. This one is OK.”  
“Just OK? For you? This is important,” Sophie said, determined, “We’ll do it again. I can take it.”

 

“My love,” Sophie called to him, her manifested spirit resting on the far end of the sofa facing him, “Why watch things when they upset you so?” Harry stopped the video, filling the room with light as the projection remained without an image. Harry stared at her, captivated by the gentle radiance of her beauty before he replied, “Why didn’t you tell me about this? Why do it at all?” Sophie blinked slowly, her eyes drifting south as she considered his dysphoria. “We never really discussed the work, and I rather liked leaving it at the door when I could. It took so many other things. I suppose I gave them up gladly. Womanhood usually belongs to one’s calling. I lived with it, so I tried to make it useful.” Sophie said, adding, "I did it for Edwin,” Her bright eyes fixed on him and her tone became serious as she concluded, “he’s a good man Harry. Don’t blame him.” Harry glanced at his tablet, scrolling through the messages from Edwin regarding the cube and how to care for it. There were twelve of them so far. 

“Is that me?” Sophie asked curiously, leaning in to study the cube. The amusement in her tone left Harry’s expression bitter as he spat, “No. It isn’t.” His unconscious disdain grabbed Sophie’s attention, mildly annoying her. “But buried in that other box,” she countered, “that’s me? Is that where I end?” His bitterness melted into pure sorrow as he looked over to her, and Sophie felt guilty for her snark. “My mother once told me,” she offered kindly, “she said, ‘if you can’t tell whether I am real or not, but I say what you need to hear, does it really matter?’ I don’t know...”  
“But it must,” Harry reasoned. He gestured at the device, “She…is aware, confused, and alone. Perhaps permanently.” Harry leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees as he debated, “And she’s you. She is you, Canary. Are you saying that’s how you wish to remain?” Harry drew his hands through his hair slowly, his head lowered, “Why is this so hard?”

“Because grief is not a basin you can simply pour out,” Sophie replied, “It is an ocean you must learn to sail.” They shared an intense, lingering look for several moments until a smile emerged on Harry’s face. “You always were one for grim determination,” he quipped, watching the blush spread in her cheeks. Sophie’s face had an almost unearthly glow as she cherished him, drawing her knees and wrapping her arms around them. “Perhaps I should have given you a son. I wish I had sometimes,” she offered with a shrug. Harry scoffed loudly at this.  
“No you don’t,” he countered with a desperate laugh trapped in his throat.  
“No I don’t,” she agreed, “but I had to say something. I am not at all prepared for this Harry Hart: so gloomy and downhearted. It’s almost as though someone were haunting you.” Harry’s smile grew as Sophie rolled her eyes innocently following her comment. “Quite right,” he sniffed. 

“So, how goes my case?” Sophie asked, dropping her knees and resting her palms on them.   
“Don’t you know?” Harry asked, “I mean, since you’re here in the preternatural.”  
“Honestly Harry,” Sophie mocked, “I’m not omniscient. Come on…talk shop with me.”  
“We believe the symbols are assigned by region,” Harry explained, “and when you rearrange them this way a pattern emerges.” Harry accessed the file, loading it to the projector for Sophie to examine. As she read the information on screen, Harry informed her, “I have Bedivere and Gareth working with Lancelot on the case. I believe they are together as we speak.” Sophie looked back at him, her expression prideful as she asked, “My Bedivere and Gareth?” Harry nodded, revelling in her soft coo as she turned back to study the information projected. He said nothing for a short time, happy to have one more moment in her company. 

 

In Islington, Gareth opened a second bottle of wine while Lancelot helped clear the table. She refilled Lancelot’s glass before grabbing a soda for Bedivere and returning it to the table. “These symbols were only on structures according to Guinevere’s notes,” Bedivere announced, thumbing through the notes while the other agents finished putting away the remains of Sunday lunch, “Could the structures be a front?” Lancelot stopped, pausing as she grasped her wine glass and considered the idea, “Perhaps the construction companies are a front.” After she said this, Lancelot returned to her laptop, keying in the information as she began searching for the symbols as company logos. She grumbled softly, dissatisfied as she checked off the first one and continued looking. “I’ll start on the second sheet,” Gareth said, taking it from the coffee table and returning to the sofa, “If any of these are a match, we should look into the company staff.”

“We could question anyone connected to the company until we find a solid lead,” Lancelot agreed. The three women returned to their laptops, all searching for evidence in Gareth’s small flat. Lancelot was the senior agent, and used to working alone but found the zeal of these junior agents charming. She especially liked Diane, whose flat was neat and filled with books and whose eager suggestion reminded her of girls at school. Arthur had changed things inside Kingsman, down to the atmosphere in the office, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Guinevere had been an influence in the process. Eggsy was correct - when Roxy thought of Guinevere, it was the regret of never meeting which consumed her. Roxy looked out at the new recruits, hoping they could put a swift end to this case and perhaps lend in the closure Arthur seemed to so desperately seek. She ticked the second symbol, moving down the list in determined silence.

“I found one!” Bedivere exclaimed, grabbing the attention of her fellow agents, “Охотный ряд.” Lancelot looked up curiously, “In Moscow?” Bedivere continued reading from her screen, nodding to confirm, “there was a major renovation there, originally proposed by a group of developers including Donald Trump. Those renovations were carried out by an unnamed group with this symbol.” Bedivere turned her laptop to the others, allowing them to note the symbol from their case file. “It appears the head of that organization is close friends with Vladimir Putin, and appeared at the grand opening to celebrate the renovation.” Reclaiming her screen, Bedivere lifted the photograph to search the network image search against Kingsman’s vast periodical database. “Got it,” she said victorious, “Minuet Vasiliev. A Russian national with very powerful allies.”

Gareth refilled her glass, lifting it to her fellow agent. “Well done!” she cheered, “Now, let’s run a background check and see what we can find out about Mrs. Vasiliev. Then we can see if she can lead us to a possible target.” Gareth cheerful took a drink from her glass before keying into the system to run down the lead. “Great - we’ll continue checking symbols for any further connection.” Bedivere replied, nodding to Lancelot before they all returned to their files to note the newest lead.   
In Moscow, a prompt interrupted spreadsheets, alerting a young man to the credit report search on Minuet Vasiliev. He immediately stopped working, transferring the notification to a tablet and carrying it down the hall to a large mahogany door and pressing the chime beside it. He then gently opened the door, calling out to gain permission to enter the space. “Missis Vasil'yev, u vas yest' zapros dannykh. Vozmozhno narusheniye,” he explained, handing over the tablet.   
In the solitude of her vast office, she took the tablet and dismissed him.

 

“I like the idea of the next crop of Kingsman being so diverse,” Sophie admitted merrily, “Just…don’t don’t send them away. Grail Pursuit requires too much of a single agent.” There was sorrow buried in that final comment, and as Harry contemplated it Sophie stood and stretched slowly before him. Her lithe figure extended, reaching up with her fingertips before lowering them to her sides in slow, drifting sweeps. She hummed softly to herself, looking at the frames along the wall as she meandered around the room to the garden door. Harry closed the file, standing to access the keypad and return the screen when he realized Sophie was no longer in the room. He spied her yellow dress through the window, eerily still in the chilling winter wind. Harry stepped into his slippers before stepping out into the cold night to meet her.   
“The stars are so beautiful out here,” Sophie muttered when he took his place beside her. 

“The device said you believed Nero had a partner,” Harry said, his question clear in the information. “I did, but Arthur didn’t agree,” Sophie responded, still gazing up into the cosmos, “Given what we now know of him it does make me wonder.” Sophie briefly broke her study, looking back at Harry with an expression that showed she took no joy in that observation. “Nero was savage,” she explained, “like an animal. He simply destroyed anything in his path with a magnetic zeal. It was devastating to witness in the field, but it was unsustainable for a long term organization.” Sophie returned her focus to the sky, adding simply, “He wouldn’t have lasted alone. Without someone to temper him, his would have simply burned up in all that malice.” Harry thought to point out her having successfully taken out Nero, but seeing her stoic melancholy stopped him. It was as though she were free of these mortal grudges, and he did not wish to remind her of them. 

“Oh, Harry look,” Sophie gushed, calling his attention as she pointed to the bright in the night’s sky. Harry followed her elegant finger up to the sparkle in the darkness, stepping closer to her as he took it in. “Venus,” he acknowledged, “the goddess of love.” Sophie’s face slowly turned away from the sky to find the warmth of Harry’s tender brown eyes. He held his breath, hoping to stifle trembling at the nearness of his lost partner. When he could take it no longer, he leaned in hoping to clench his insuperable pining for her with a much-desired kiss. Sophie stepped back from him immediately - leaving Harry confused and dysphoric. “I can’t,” Sophie whispered, looking down as she backed away, “I can never kiss you, ever again.” The sorrow and loss in her voice brought a lump to Harry’s throat, and he took a single step back to show his understanding of the situation. “I lost you too,” she admitted, looking back at him.

Sophie looked away from him again, the sadness within her seeming to grow until it consumed her entirely. Harry was at first puzzled by this reaction, trying to figure out how his action could have created such a response when it hit him. “You’re not coming back, are you?” he asked dolefully. Sophie looked into his eyes, her pale green eyes fixed and unblinking as she answered, “No.”   
Harry felt his breath leave him, unable to replace it with the thick cold night air around him. He could only focus on her unaffected beauty. “I had unfinished business,” she clarified, “but I gave it to you. You will not let me down, so my business is no longer unfinished.” Sophie attempted a meek smile as she concluded, “Once you solve my mystery, of course. But this will be the last time I can come speak to you. This is our last stolen rendezvous.”

Harry looked at the ring on his finger, in denial about the information he was given. “ **Our** business is unfinished,” he countered, “we never had a chance to be together - we are unfinished. I have so much love to still give you, Canary.” Sophie looked at him, her expression changed. She seemed angry at his comment, pacing as her expression registered each phase of her logic concerning his comment. “We made choices, you and I,” Sophie stated calmly, “we chose to be apart because we chose something more important. We made sacrifices but they were not unfinished.” Sophie stepped forward, catching Harry’s eye and holding his attention as she declared, “I died with a heart full of you. Please don’t make me feel that wasn’t enough.”  
“My love,” Harry said tearfully, “you’re right. I am merely heartsick. Please forgive me.”  
Sophie took a step closer to him, lingering as close as possible to Harry without touching.

“The device,” she asked gently, “does it suffer?”   
“I believe she does,” Harry replied.  
“Then I trust your decision, Arthur,” Sophie stated resolutely, “A Kingsman above all things.”   
She looked back at the sky, then around the garden at the back of their simple cottage as Harry took in her ethereal loveliness. “It is a gorgeous night,” she said dreamily.  
“A bit cold,” Harry remarked.  
“Is it?” Sophie inquired, oblivious to the weather in her summery satin dress.  
“You can count on me, Canary,” Harry assured her, “The case, the device - I will take care of everything.”  
“Of course I can,” Sophie smiled, “quite right.”

A gust of wind blew past them, and for a moment Harry thought he smelled Sophie’s perfume. Overwhelmed by the nearness of his beloved, Harry again attempted to kiss Sophie only to pass through her completely. He stumbled, gaining his balance as he turned back but she was gone. Harry looked around, but there was no sign of his dearest wife. She simply disappeared. Hamish whimpered, pacing around him in confused pursuit before resting a paw of Harry’s shin for comfort. Harry bent down, collecting Hamish and staring up at Venus, alone.


	7. Doppelganger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case heats up and a new foe emerges as the agents continue to follow Guinevere's final case. 
> 
> Next chapter August 9th, and if you are enjoying this - leave a comment!   
> Thanks for reading!

“Arthur!” Edwin cried, jumping from the sofa and following Harry as he entered the shop, “did you bring the device? How is it? Where is my prototype?”  
“Good morning Edwin,” Harry replied, removing his coat and placing it onto the coat rack. He said nothing else, walking past him and into his office. Edwin followed him, closing the door as Harry rested his briefcase upon his desk and pressed the com to request tea service. Harry stopped; remembering Sophie’s request for manners as he considered Edwin’s anxious state and extended his hand to offer him a seat before taking his own. Edwin sat down, noticeably anxious and uncertain of how to rein in his worrisome campaign. Harry hoped the silence might serve to settle the emotions of both men and prevent harsh words from being exchanged. The tea service came, setting a piping cup before each of them before pushing the cart from the office. 

“The device…” Edwin cautiously began, “needs to be in the lab. It has a half-life. You can’t take it away for too long because if it shuts down - and that’s it.” Harry stopped, holding his cup in mid-sip as he looked at Edwin. “That’s. It.” Edwin repeated sternly, “I have no back up - if the prototype shuts down, then Epimetheus is gone forever.” Harry’s expression softened at this information, and he took his sip slowly. “I promised her I would take care of it,” Edwin explained.   
“So did I,” Harry admitted, “and that’s why I have the device in safekeeping. How long is this half-life? Knowing you, it won’t be hours. Edwin would never allow for standards that low. So, how long do I have before there’s real danger? Weeks? Months? How long does she have?”  
“Harry!” Edwin called, raising his voice, “Bring it back. The device belongs to Kingsman.”  
“How long?” Harry asked again, all mirth leaving his voice as his gaze turned intimidating.

Edwin said nothing for a moment, staring back at Harry in confused disappointment. Finally, with a defeated sigh he responded, “Three hundred and sixty-six days.” When his response was met by Harry’s confusion, he elaborated, “Percival, in the Idylls? A knight pure of heart may pledge for a year and a day,” Edwin shrugged, exhausted at the exchange, “I am responsible for hardware at this agency. There is a protocol we all must observe…”  
“And I am responsible for every **agent** in this agency. Guinevere therefore falls under my authority,” Harry clarified, “as do you. The device will remain with me until I make a final decision concerning my **agent’s** well-being.” Harry returned his cup to the desk, looking down at the ledger to spare Edwin humility, “When I was Galahad, like Guinevere I sought the pledge, but now I understand: this is not spiritual. At some point, the pledge must end.”

Edwin said nothing, lifting his tea cup and drinking it down in a single drink. He looked around the room, seeming to try very hard to avoid eye contact with Harry before he nodded and stood to leave. “Please consider what I have said, Arthur,” he said aloud, with no discernible inflection as he turned to leave Harry’s office, “I know you think you are sparing her, but the only place it will be safe is here with us. You wouldn’t want it in the wrong hands.” His eyes returned to Harry’s for a moment, pleading in silence before he turned and left the office. He passed Eggsy in the hall, saying nothing as he continued to the sub-basement. Eggsy watched him pass in confusion before tracing his path back to Harry’s office door. He reflected on their last meeting, turned, and walked to Harry’s office. “Eggsy,” Harry said crisply, “join me. I’d like to discuss closing the Office of Grail Affairs. Permanently.”

Edwin returned to his desk, shuffling papers before he stopped in a huff. Tapping his pen against his desk, he looked around the office as he thought about his exchange with Arthur. “Bertram?” he called, grasping his tablet and opening Arthur’s technical schematics, “could you procure a form 4386 for me please?” He said nothing further, tapping along as his apprentice looked up from the back desk, stopped his tinkering and went to the filing cabinet to retrieve the documents. “A 4386 - wow!” Bertram remarked, “I sure hope it’s not for me.”   
“Don’t be silly,” Edwin dismissed as he accepted the form from his young assistant, “it’s not for anyone you need concern yourself with. However, even the handling of such a document is to be considered highly sensitive information - not gossip.”   
Edwin nodded to his ward, who returned to his desk with a pleasant nod in confirmation. 

 

Lancelot stood at the head of the table, reviewing her notes in preparation for the meeting as Gareth poked her head in. “I’m not late, am I?” she asked timidly. Lancelot shook her head, waving her in as she studied her notes. Gareth sighed in relief as she opened the door and set her notebook on the table. Before she could take her seat, Bedivere walked in, a _Pret a Manger_ bag in one hand and a coffee in the other. “Good, we haven’t started,” she said as she dropped into her seat, “it would’ve broken my heart to let my porridge go cold.” She pulled the small container from her bag, giving it a stir as she added brown sugar while Gareth simply stared at her. Bedivere felt the penetrating gaze, looking up as she stuck the spoon in her mouth for an initial taste. “What?” she asked innocently, looking to Lancelot and back to Gareth.   
“Nothing,” Gareth said, returning to her notes, “I wonder what’s keeping Arthur.”

The doors opened, and Eggsy entered, followed by Arthur as they concluded their conversation and took their seats. “Good morning,” Arthur addressed, pressing the request button for tea service, “if there’s no objection, we’ll begin with a few announcements while everyone finishes their breakfast.” Lancelot and Gareth glanced at Bedivere, who was mid-bite, but said nothing. “There was a time when the establishment of a single body, dedicated to long term deep cover operations was believed to be an appropriate move forward here at Kingsman. With new leadership, this plan is now considered unfit for purpose,” Harry announced, taking a small pause as he looked around at the lush decor of the new dining room, “deep cover is too great a demand for an agent to do exclusively. For this reason, The Department of Grail Affairs will be archived as a resource of information for years to come, and missions befitting this designation will be assigned in rotation, with skill set in mind.”

 

Eggsy offered Harry a reassuring smile, nodding as he replied, “Well said. I believe we’ve made some advancement on Operation Grail as well.” Bedivere quickly swallowed with a nod, standing to take command from Eggsy’s lead. “We followed the tip supplied by Arthur’s witness regarding the connection to construction. So we got together and cross-referenced each symbol to known construction organizations around the world in the Kingsman network. Most, unfortunately, turned up nothing,” Bedivere explained, “Either they no longer existed, or the information on them seemed to lead nowhere - a shell company of a subsidiary of a defunct holding corporation. On and on, with no connection to any actual person. I figured we might’ve been barking up the wrong tree with this line of thinking, so I started checking business records outside the network. That’s when I discovered an article with a CEO out of Russia: a woman.” 

“Yes,” Gareth said, taking the lead, “a Minuet Vasiliev. The widow of a Russian oligarch, Vasiliev seemed a powerful woman. She was connected to Putin, and was on record as the CEO of the Gīsla Group - a large group of international construction suppliers.” Harry blinked slowly as he listened, scribbling that name into his file before dropping his pen to return his focus to the presentation. “So of course, we ran a background check on Minuet Vasiliev, but it turned up absolutely nothing. Zip.” Gareth leaned back in her chair, frustrated as she explained, “It was as though Minuet Nero just appeared in 1990, got married, and then disappeared once her husband died. No children, nothing. Not even a credit report. She just vanished again.”   
Suddenly, every Kingsman around the table smiled as it came to each of them. Looking around, they all declared, “She’s the lynchpin!”

“Or she’s one Hell of a doppelganger,” Bedivere remarked. The agents looked at each other, considering the information when Harry asked, “Can we connect her to any known illegal activity? Being a Russian diplomat will make it quite difficult if not impossible to reach her and she will have no reason to cooperate with any investigation. I doubt our government could be moved to pursue her with friends like Vladimir Putin.” His point silenced the table apart from Lancelot, who cleared her throat as she directed Arthur’s attention to the screen. “I remembered something you said about Guinevere once,” Lancelot explained, “so I went home and started pouring through her case files on the Kingsman network. Guinevere reported on Sullivan Nero, saying she believed him to be working with an accomplice in her personal notes. I wondered if this might have been extrapolated in reverse: what if Nero were the accomplice?” 

Eggsy and Harry exchanged a glance as Lancelot changed slide and projected a large tree, connecting multiple symbols to dates and locations going back to the mid 90s. “If you cross reference the symbols against the known operations of Sullivan Nero, a pattern emerges,” Lancelot said, progressing to the next slide. The items on the tree shifted, forming a timeline which grouped Nero’s missions and matched them to the symbols by their location. “Even more interesting,” Lancelot continued, “if you speculate beyond our records, the pattern seems to continue - meaning Nero might’ve been had a hand in cases years before we were aware of him.” Lancelot looked back to the group as she concluded, “What we can say with certainty is that Minuet Vasiliev is connected to Sullivan Nero, going back at least to 1995. Agent Guinevere was correct on her hunch.” Lancelot beamed as Harry looked up at the pattern, his eyes alight.

“She’s snugged in deep, right,” Eggsy announced, “but once we locate her, we will extract her.” He looked to Harry, certain his inspired declaration would be appreciated, only to find Harry’s expression clouded. This puzzled Eggsy, but he thought it best to inquire in private. “This is excellent work,” Harry acknowledged, “especially your contribution Lancelot. We will continue to pursue any inroads to ascertain information on this Minuet Vasiliev, and report back here midweek. Dismissed.” The agents thanked Arthur before collecting their files and leaving he and Eggsy alone in the dining room. Eggsy stared at Harry, confused by his expression as his focus remained on the projected information above the fireplace. “Are you alright?” Eggsy finally asked, “I know you want to nail this one. Don’t worry - we’ll be out there soon.”  
“I don’t want them going after that woman,” Harry said sternly, his response stunning Eggsy.

“What?” Eggsy asked, incredulous. He looked back at the screen, trying to understand Harry’s comment when he repeated, “I do not want them going after that woman. They aren’t prepared.”  
“So we prepare them,” Eggsy replied, “do you really think I was ready for Richmond Valentine? They have far more experience than I did, trained by Guinevere herself!” Harry’s eyes trailed from the screen looking out along the art adorning the walls of the dining room in silence. “Hadad…” he muttered, “the sea is always at war with the heavens.” He sighed, falling silent.  
“Don’t take this the wrong way or anything,” Eggsy said, leaning in to speak softly to him, “but have you been seeing butterflies again, Harry?” Harry’s eyes found Eggsy, and though he knew the question to be meant in concern it left him cold. “No,” he responded, standing, “not for many months. My concerns are grounded in reality. This woman alluded us for decades, Galahad.” 

“Harry,” Eggsy started, “I didn’t mean…” Harry raised a hand, interrupting him with a dismissive nod. “Not just us, Eggsy,” Harry replied, “all of Kingsman. This woman has at least twenty-five years advantage, and God only knows what resources at her disposal. It is prudent to take caution, especially with newer agents.” Harry stepped to the bar, pouring a dram of brandy and inhaling its rich aroma. His back to Eggsy, he took a moment in silence to try to calm the dread he could feel but was uncertain he could place. He agreed with Eggsy in part, yet there was something about the mission that left him deeply conflicted, a foreboding that he could not ignore. Eggsy watched him as he held the glass, seemingly in conflict with himself. “Harry,” he said kindly, “she’s the Holy Grail. She’s what Guinevere was searching for from the very beginning. You don’t need to worry, mate - I will bring her here.”

Harry turned back to him, setting the untouched brandy on the table before him. He smiled sickly, sighing as he recited, _”And God fulfils Himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.”_ He then rested his palm on Eggsy shoulder for a moment, and without further comment, left the office. Eggsy listened to the door close behind him, saying a silent prayer for peace to finally find his bereft friend. Harry did not stop, collecting his coat and case before making his way through the shop doors and out onto St. James Street when his glasses chirped. Absentmindedly, Harry tapped the glasses as he looked for a black cab. “Eggsy, we can discuss this further when I return to the office tomorrow,” he answered, “I really need to turn over this new information and give it some thought before we proceed.”  
“My condolences on your recent loss, Harry Hart,” an unfamiliar voice greeted, “Your wife was a remarkable woman.” 

Harry stopped immediately, his blood running cold as he studied the voice. “I sometimes have flowers put on her grave,” she continued, “I’ll take a recommendation if she had a preference.”   
“Who is this?” Harry asked, lowering his hand and stepping back from the corner as he swept the area for evidence of surveillance. He leisurely turned, but caught no one in the light afternoon crowd. “Don't you know?” the voice replied, “I'm the one that buried her.” 

 

Harry felt sick, trying to figure out how she could have hacked Kingsman hardware and how compromised they might be at that moment. “Of course, that's not entirely accurate,” she continued, “my dear Sullivan finished the job. I buried her the first time. He watched her crawl out of that grave, and then he killed that boy! It was too delicious to resist. Ah, so long ago.” Minuet huffed softly in dismissal, “One barely remembers the insignificant details.”

Harry said nothing, backing to the storefront as he scrambled to record the call. “Not very talkative, are you?” Minuet continued, “Ah, well. Sully was like that. We appreciated the intimacy of the unspoken. I’m sure you can relate, especially now.” There was a moment of silence following her comment that Harry was certain was sincere, which puzzled him. His hatred of her was complete from the moment she spoke of Sophie. Harry seethed, recording as much of the call as possible as he reentered the shop and signaled to Hobson. 

“And now you're on your little mission,” she goaded, “Nothing will come of it you know. Pity. I would caution you not to send anyone else dear to you.” Minuet paused, enjoying the full measure of her menace as she asked sweetly, “This Eggsy person? Are they dear to you?” Hobson lifted his telephone receiver, calling down to Edwin in his office and relaying from Harry’s signal.

“He’s no one,” Harry rebuffed, “another cog in the organization.” Harry listened as a low, sinister laugh found his ear. “Now why do I think that’s untrue,” she replied smoothly.   
“Wouldn’t you rather have the agent that ordered Sullivan Nero’s death?” Harry replied, his tone snide in an attempt to draw her out. Harry listened to her soft hum as Hobson signaled back to him across the shop. “That is also untrue,” she cooed, “if it were true... I would have to kill your young cousin in Sussex, and that lovely woman in Upton House…” 

“You and I share a kinship, Harry - we have both lost someone dear to us in our profession. Let’s not blacken that with falsehoods.” Harry swallowed, listening to her dulcet threats as Eggsy met Hobson, noting the spread of knowledge throughout the building. “You’re right,” Harry admitted, “that was a silly lie. My wife dispatched Nero, in tremendous pain as I understand it and with great ease.” 

“Some difficulty,” Minuet corrected, ”and I bet someday, you'll be very proud that you got this close to me. This is your chance to walk away, and reach someday. That is, unless I must be given reason to reunite you both - which I could also do with great ease. It would be a kindness, for as we both know - this is a young man's game.” Harry gripped his case, steadying his breath as Edwin ran into the shop with a triumphant look on his face. 

“Is that so, Mrs. Vasiliev?” Harry replied sternly, “I rather think that’s an ambition I would love to see attempted. Or at least explained face to face, provided you aren’t afraid of a tete-a-tete?”   
He listened as her balmy, confident laugh filled his handset. “Such silly games spies play.” Harry nodded to confirm with his men as Minuet concluded, “Happy hunting, Mr. Hart.”   
With that, the call disconnected. 

Harry removed his glasses, allowing the call to settle over him before he straightened and took a step toward the group. “I made a recording,” Harry began, looking to Edwin, “can we do anything with that?” Edwin tapped feverishly along his tablet, a determined look on his face. “No need, I already have one,” he answered sternly, “hack my system and invite yourself in, will you? Silly cow,” 

Edwin continued typing as Eggsy shot an amused look to Harry at Edwin’s palpable frustration. Edwin stopped, holding his tablet to display as Harry approached. As his eyes settled on the beacon, Edwin announced proudly, “Got her.”   
“Concerning our previous conversation,” Harry said to Eggsy, granting a gentle nod of gratitude to Edwin, “you were correct. Assemble a team - we are good to go.” Eggsy smiled back to reassure him, “Yes sir,” he replied, turning to leave the shop. Edwin nodded as well, leaving Harry and returning to his lab without further comment.


	8. Pursuit of the Heroine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kingsmen travel to Russia and come face-to-face with Minuet Vasiliev.
> 
> Next chapter on August 23rd - THANKS FOR READING!

Unable to sleep, Minuet Vasiliev sat her overstuffed reading chair, looking out the window. She brushed her nails along the Italian silk upholstery and thought of Sullivan. She remembered how happy it made her just to see him in such serenity, book in hand and lost in thought. Nero had such fury in him at times that it made Minuet feel betrothed to it, certain her ability to calm him was from their shared fate. They were star-crossed as far as Minuet had always been concerned - meant to be. No matter what the world seemed determined to throw at them. Minuet rubbed her eyes, stretching as she stared out at the overcast, starless sky. It wasn’t like her to lose sleep over a perceived threat, but with Nero gone she felt a little less invulnerable. She was also annoyed that her attempt to forestall this Kingsman had backfired spectacularly. She was trying to be helpful, to warn him what awaits. But secret agents are an arrogant lot. 

She watched the tiny traces of first light pierced the deep blackness in the sky, slightly changing the clouds to a royal purple when the door opened and her ladies’ maid entered the bedroom. Quietly creeping in, she set to lighting the fireplace without noticing Minuet in the chair. “Thank you, Renate,” she offered from the darkness, startling the maid as she turned to the voice and clutched her chest. “You should be in bed!” she hissed, a scold that brought a smirk to Minuet.  
“They will be coming soon,” Minuet explained, “that woman was his wife. There can be no reasoning with grief like ours.”   
“Bespredel,” the maid uttered as she took in the information. She looked to Minuet, who gave an affirming if indifferent nod before she returned to the fireplace with renewed frustration. Once the flame caught, Renate stood and brushed the soot from her hands carefully to not soil anything in the room.

“I will bring your tea,” she instructed, “would madam care for anything else?” Minuet paused, considering the question before she replied, “Call Pyotr. We must redecorate before they arrive.”

 

Harry was also wide awake, pacing his London flat as he wanted to be close to the office during the mission. He stopped for a moment, looking at the small shelf of momentos he brought into the otherwise sterile space. Staring back at him was a framed article he had given to Sophie some fifteen years before. Inscribed in the corner was the loving note:

_It’s good to remember._

Harry lifted it, running his thumb across the inscription plate as he smiled at the memory of her reaction. His mourning of her was effortless and constant, yet as he examined the quote it was his own youth that stung with its absence. There was a time when his advice sounded mature, and he was happy to offer it. Harry replaced the frame to the shelf, that boy a stranger to him now. He looked across the sparse, cold space and decided to return to the office before sunrise. 

“Arthur?” Edwin greeted, entering the kitchen carefully. Harry looked up from his notes and offered a meek smile and his tea steeped. Edwin looked at his watch, confused by the hour.   
“I wanted to get a start on the extra training schedules,” Arthur explained, flipping through his clipboard as he did, “I will be resting once the agents are clear of the agenda. Not to worry.”  
“No worries,” Edwin replied, collecting his artisanal nut mylk without further comment. Realizing the silence could be read as anger, “I want you to know,” he offered sheepishly, “that was a cracking job tracing Minuet’s location. You should be very proud. Well done.” Edwin gurgled a moment, pausing at the door and turning back to face Arthur. “I was already on your feed,” Edwin confessed, “I was concerned about our previous exchange concerning Epimetheus so I prepared a Form 4386 and was listening in for evidence…” Edwin stopped rambling, blushing. 

“I see,” Harry said, sipping his tea. For a moment, silence conquered the room as the two men shared the space. “I shut Epimetheus down,” he said, grasping his cup, “good day, Edwin.”  
Harry walked past him, trying not to linger in the company of the man he knew he had devastated. He was certain he must’ve sounded cruel, but he knew the course of action to be the right one. Harry wondered if this was how Chester King came to develop his reputation around the agency. Moments like this, and he missed Guinevere as much as Sophie. He missed having that confidant and support, especially on days when the work demanded so very much.   
Edwin remained in the kitchen, stunned at his response. He poured a cup of coffee and tried to resist having an emotional response to the knowledge that he would never hear her voice again. Edwin tried to remain professional, but at that moment he sincerely resented Harry. 

Harry entered his office, keying the revised mission schedule into the network and setting it for the training boards. It was now Tuesday, and with the mission scheduled for Friday there wasn’t an hour to waste polishing his new agents and giving them every advantage before facing the Russian threat. With the revised schedule in place, Harry went to find Eggsy and hand over the revised clipboard. “I have a terrible feeling,” Harry commented as Eggsy skimmed the information on the clipboard, “like I’m forgetting something. Do you see any omission?” Eggsy scoffed at the question, looking up to comfort Harry, “No, bruv. This is well thorough. They’ll be ready, alright? I’ll be with them, Harry. Don’t worry.”   
Harry ran his palm across his face, his exhaustion catching up to him. “If you have no concerns,” Harry asked, “I might just pop up to one of the suites and have a brief rest. I’ve not slept well lately.”

Eggsy nodded, watching as Harry continued down the corridor to the basement transport. He had never seen Harry so cautious, but tried to remember what the woman was responsible for over these years. Harry was right to be concerned, even if his worries seemed a bit overblown. Eggsy looked forward to this mission being behind them both, and perhaps with added closure Harry might finally shake the gloom which seemed to dominate his personality of late. Eggsy tried to imagine losing Tilde, and the ache spread through him like ink upon a page. He only hoped capturing Vasiliev brought him some peace. Eggsy’s thoughts drifted back to Tilde, and his recent visit with her at the palace. A smile crossed his face as he thought when best to tell Harry the happy news, but as he glanced down the now empty corridor he affirmed to himself, _“After this mission, when everything is back to normal. Then I’ll tell him all about it.”_

Harry stepped into Arthur’s suite in the private wing of the Manor House, walking through the small sitting room and to the elegantly made bed. He removed his coat, belt, holster and shoes before flopping into the bed in an exhausted heap. From the bed, he could still see the corner of the table where Sophie’s makeup had been abandoned. It was the last place he had seen her alive. _The New York Times Crossword Puzzle Dictionary, Second Edition, 1984. L’Occitane Immortelle Divine Serum, 30ml._ he listed in his head, a mantra turned bedtime ritual, _A boar’s hair brush: to maintain shine…or so she insisted._   
Harry slipped deeply into needed sleep, his mind going blank as all thought left him. With Galahad looking after the recruits and the new training taking place, the best thing for Harry to do was put his faith in their institution and the fine people within it. 

 

Minuet stood at the top on the marble staircase, watching the movers shuffling her large antique pieces from one room to another. “It must look organic,” she instructed, “unchanged. That is absolutely necessary.” She listened as the men sounded off in acknowledgement of her orders before her eyes settled back on the spot at the foot of the stairs. It was gleaming, a polished and vibrant white marble that showed no evidence of its history. Minuet could see it, however: the pool of maroon which painted the foot of these stairs, carrying with it everyone she loved in this world. She stared at the spot, remembering that awful night and the disquietude following the fall. Those awful moments when no one could tell her, yet she knew they were gone from her. The tidal wave of knowing you can do nothing to stop what is to come, and the dark respect as you are consumed in it. As a mover crossed her line of sight, she blinked away the awful memory. 

“Open the suite,” she instructed, “and I will need to see the staff schedule.” Renate nodded dutifully, handing over her clipboard. Minuet scanned it, touching a name on the schedule. “Not him,” she remarked, “put Mikhail on this. He’s expendable.” Renate took the clipboard from her, striking through the name and replacing the slot as ordered. “We should open the suite. We have, at most, 72 hours before they will arrive,” she remarked, “so let’s be prepared.” Minuet did not wait for a response from her subordinate, returning her focus to the staircase. She remembered Renate’s shrill cry from the top of the staircase as she found her, rushing down to check her fragile body and lift her from the growing pool. “Do not worry Madam,” she said, her hands shaking, “I am sure the twins are not harmed.” Renate screamed for assistance, holding Minuet’s shoulders in her lap as her children died within her. 

Minuet had suggested Nero go on the trip, as she felt some of his men were incompetant without supervision. She promised to remain in bed, per her doctor’s orders, until he returned to her side. With her assurance, Nero kissed her forehead before dropping to a knee and pressing his cheek to her enlarged bump. It was the last moment Minuet Vasiliev could remember being happy. When she heard the shots that incapacitated her beloved Sully, she instinctively sprang from her bed in the hopes of allerting her security crew and sending someone to collect him. She reached the staircase, calling out desperately before succumbing to a wave of fatigue and tumbling down the marble steps. Obvious in hindsight yet unthinkable in the moment: Minuet was returned to her bed and sedated while the doctor rushed to her compound. By the time she regained consciousness, her children were gone. 

“So, how will we hit back at the Kingsman?” Mikhail asked her, pacing the bed as Minuet was lifted by her mournful maid and propped up by several pillows. Renate wept silently, unsure of how to offer comfort in the moment as she took a seat beside the bed. Minuet was certain that after failing to be there before the accident, she would now be impossible to dismiss. “We don’t,” she answered finally, looking up at her employee, “we lost this one. To pursue further could risk ruin.” Her fixed, stony gaze met his as she said resolutely, “Sometimes you just lose, and depart the field wiser for the wear.” Mikhail was visibly annoyed at the response, pacing to catch her eye again and make his disapproval clear. “I have spoken,” Minuet said harshly, not looking up, “get out of here.” They bowed slightly before leaving the room, the door slamming as a single tear spilled down her cheek.   
Minuet patted her cheeks to focus herself, leaving the staircase to complete her plans. 

 

Harry walked slowly through the gymnasium, studying the agents as they practiced their combat skills. “Are they prepared to disarm an explosive device?” he asked, “What about hacking a security system or mechanical relay?” Eggsy placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder as he observed each of the female agents in their training modules. “We’ve got it, Harry,” he said confidently, “Listen, I know you’re worried, but I’m not. I can’t explain it Harry. I just feel like everything is going to work out.” Harry looked back to Eggsy kindly as he concluded, “Trust me mate.” Harry paused before nodding slowly and looking back at the agents. “They are quite brilliant,” he admitted, his expression brightening. “Report to the dining room once this module is complete. We will go over intel during lunch.” Harry did not wait for a response, leaving the agents to continue their extensive preparation. 

The agents filed into the dining room as Harry read through the case intel, taking their seats and having a look at the menu. “Following Edwin’s trace on the call, we were able to locate what we believe to be the compound of Minuet Vasiliev,” Eggsy announced, “Using backscatter technology, our drones have been able to take a scan of the property and produce it here to prepare for her extraction.” Eggsy sent the image to the viewer over the fireplace, returning to his menu while the other agents studied the image. “It just…” Gareth muttered, “aerial photos? It seems too easy.” Gareth squirmed slightly in her seat, but Harry smiled. Clearing his throat, he responded, “You should nurture that instinct - it’s a clear trap. Well done you.” Gareth beamed, pursing her lips as she scribbled into her notepad hoping the attention shifted away from her. The agents returned to the image, committing it to memory as Eggsy continued the presentation. 

“Attempted trap or no, it’s our best shot at getting this arms dealer and discovering the extent of her crimes,” Eggsy said, “with her in custody, we might be able to link her to the multiple murders in Texas in 1996 based on her comments in Galahad’s call.” Eggsy looked to Arthur, who gave a slight nod before adding, “That was an especially difficult mission for Guinevere. She was very distraught over the victims, which included a child.” The women looked among one another as their lunch arrived and was served. For a few moments, the business paused as the focus shifted to the meal. “So,” Eggsy announced after taking his first bite, “we continue the training, and you are to commit these blueprints to memory. We will be deploying at 2200 hours this Friday evening.” The agents all nodded and returned to their lunch apart from Arthur, who observed the agents quietly, his expression contemplative as he collected his napkin.

 

“It has been days, Madam,” Renate pleaded, “please.” Minuet looked over her shoulder at her maid, considering her plea with a modest sigh. She turned back to the window, peering out in a sort of keen disquiet at the stillness of late, “Renate? Would you draw a bath please?” Minuet listened as Renate began filling the deep soaking tub, still gazing out the window. “Where are you?” she whispered, listening to the deluge of water spilling into the bath. Renate walked to the chair, a small towel draped over her forearm as she rested her hand on Minuet’s shoulder. “C’mon…” she muttered, rising from the chair and following her maid to the bathroom. She stopped at the door, shedding her robe and handing it over before shutting the door. Minuet stepped into the tub, sinking into place but keeping a listen for news she was certain would come before she slipped under the water and ran her hands through her hair. 

The Kingsman, dressed all in black, quietly surrounded the compound in its serene wooded setting. Signalling to one another, Galahad and Bedivere worked to hack the ground security system while Gareth and Lancelot took out the outside security without alerting anyone. Back at HQ, Arthur and Edwin stood together in the lab watching the feeds from each agent’s pair of glasses. Galahad and Bedivere successfully wired into the security system, allowing Bertram to record and loop the internal camera footage and silence all alarms. “Agents good to go,” he radioed, looking up and nodding to Edwin as the agents looked for the best path into the main house. Arthur held his breath, watching the agents enter the property and subdue the security along the ground floor. Galahad and Bedivere fell behind as they confronted armed guards at the pool while Lancelot and Gareth carefully advanced to the staircase and ascended toward the master suite in search of their target.

“Madam!” Renate hissed, entering the bathroom as Minuet emerged from the water, “they’re here!” She busied herself, grasping her rich silk robe as Minuet toweled herself and squeezed the water from her hair. Quickly slipping into the robe, she smoothed her hair and paused at the door to the bathroom. “Are all the lights off?” Minuet asked, waiting for confirmation before turning the bathroom light off and opening the door to slip into the suite. Creeping through the darkness, Minuet was followed by Renate until she stopped suddenly and turned back to her. “This is where our paths diverge,” Minuet instructed, “you take the exit to the basement. There, you can access the compound tunnels which will lead you out to safety. Remember the access codes are different from the house.” Renate shook her head, puzzled by the instruction but Minuet was firm, “I’ll be fine. I’m just behind you. Now go.” She watched as Renate left the room, returning to her chair in the darkness and gazing out the window.

“Galahad,” Lancelot communicated, “we’re in the main corridor, enroute to the master suite now.” Lancelot turned back to Gareth, directing with her head as they stepped over the last bodyguards body and continued down the corridor to the suite. “It’s so warm,” Gareth whispered, covering Lancelot as she continued to the door and affixed the electronic relay to trip the lock and grant them entrance. With her back to Lancelot, Gareth kept watch over the long corridor while Lancelot unlocked the suite. Minuet leaned forward, shifting in her seat and slipping her hand down the side of her chair to the compact gun safe. Pressing her fingers against the keys, she unlocked the safe and waited as her hand gripped the weapon.  
Lancelot opened the door, stepping inside and depressing a plate in the floor which slammed and locked the door. Lancelot and Gareth both attempted to open the door, to no avail.

“I’ll check the room,” Lancelot radioed, switching on her night vision as Gareth continued to work against the door. Lancelot swept the room, which seemed to be merely a simple bedroom. _It is hot in here,_ Lancelot thought, wiping her brow as she opened her coat. Spying a chair which faced the closed drapes, she approached the drapes to check the window for a possible exit. Passing the chair, she threw the drapes open to discover no window at all - but an unfinished metal sheeting. Bedivere met Gareth outside the door, still trying to open it as Edwin come over the communicators. “I’m getting some strange readings from Lancelot’s biopack,” he informed, “is everything alright, Lancelot? Please confirm.”  
Arthur, Edwin, and Galahad all stopped, listening as Lancelot broke the silence with her distress call. “The room…” she said through heavy static, “it keeps getting hotter. It’s like an oven.” 

Gareth abandoned the door, turning on the hall lights to look for any panel or access which might control the entrance. “Galahad,” she commented, “I don’t think Vasiliev is here, but I think she’s close.” Galahad stopped looking through the library and focused on the comment. “What do you mean?” he asked, walking through the kitchen to the pantry in search of a large breaker box which might shut down the power to the room. Back at HQ, Arthur looked anxiously at Edwin as he and Betram monitored Lancelot’s vital signs. “Put her feed onscreen,” he requested, his tone mournful. Edwin looked up, his expression crestfallen as he followed the order and switched transmission to Lancelot’s feed. He walked over, watching along with Harry as the view moved frantically. “She shouldn’t be alone,” Arthur muttered, meeting Edwin’s gaze momentarily before they both returned to watch the feed. After several minutes of flailing, the feed grew grainy before cutting out completely.

“Remember Arthur’s call,” Gareth continued, “she said Nero watched Guinevere. I think she’s watching this now. We should check the grounds, or surveillance cameras in case she’s watching.” Galahad listened to Gareth, nodding quickly as he left the pantry. “Great work Gareth,” he replied, “you and Bedivere assist Lancelot. I’m heading out to check the external buildings.” Gareth turned back to Bedivere, who was ramming the door with a large bench from the hallway. She went to Bedivere’s side, hoping to help her with the battering when Bedivere let out a furious shout. “Enough of this bullshit,” Bedivere sneered, pulling the lighter from her pocket and triggering the grenade. Tossing it onto the bench, she pulled Gareth away from the door and to the staircase to await the blast. At HQ, Arthur stood watch as Bertram called to him, “Her biosignal is gone,” he choked out, slightly nauseated, “it could be the heat, but…”

Minuet smiled to herself, watching through the window as the blast filled the hallway with flames and smoke. She glanced at the clock, knowing that by this point the kiln reached a temperature that would prove fatal to anyone. Her plan a success, Minuet scratched her scalp idly with her gun as she stood and walked over to the bar. As she poured the vodka into her glass, she heard the first kick to her door and knew an agent had finally found her. She took a single sip of her glass, and as the door succumbed to Galahad’s force she pointed and shot him without hesitation. Galahad tumbled to the ground as Minuet finished her vodka and walked over to finish him off. “I did warn him,” she said with a shrug, kicking Galahad’s shoulder to aim for his head. However, Galahad was ready for this and fired a dart which struck Minuet in her cheek. “Sorry love,” he said as her vision went blurry and she collapsed, “bulletproof suit.” 

“Arthur?” Galahad reported back, “target acquired. We got her.”  
“Confirmed,” Arthur replied, “get back safely Galahad. Well done.” Arthur looked back across the lab. He wanted to shout, letting all his frustration and despair fill the room at having lost another agent to this woman and her dealings. He wanted to be hateful and angry with Edwin for thinking the future of this great organization was in reducing his agents to cubes - echoes of the genius and promise snuffed far too soon. However, as he saw their sorrowful expressions he knew his vexations would be pointless and hurtful. Harry knew this lost weighed heavily of Edwin, and he was exhausted from being angry at a man he so respected. “I’m going to rest just now,” Harry offered gently, “Would you wake me as soon as they arrive?” Edwin nodded and Harry turned to leave the lab, adding only “Thank you both for your efforts.”


	9. Off the Map

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grief takes many forms to find us, perhaps cruelest of all is love.

Minuet sat in the helicopter, across from the Kingsman who had taken her as they returned to England. She knew they were looking at her in her silk robe but she refused to return their leer, keeping her focus on her cuffed wrists in silence. Everything had worked out exactly to her plan.

 

“What are you reading?” Minuet asked, shifting in the bed in a fruitless effort to find a comfortable position for her massive stomach. Nero looked up from his book, lifting to tuck a pillow against her for support as he handed it over to her. “Sobek?” she asked, mildly confused as she scanned the passage and then the spine. She watched as Nero struggled to articulate his thoughts, sitting on the bed at her feet as he considered how to transfer his musing into words. “Write it down Sully,” she coaxed adoringly as she gestured to his notepad. Nero retrieved his notepad, scribbling down his response before handing it to Minuet and absentmindedly kneading her foot as she read. “Brute strength…pharaonic power **and** fertility?” she replied playfully as he lifted and rubbed her swollen foot, “Well well. I wouldn’t have taken you for religion. Full of surprises, aren’t you?” She smiled at him, watching him blush. 

“I suppose he has a queen,” she mused, still thumbing through his book as he hummed in the affirmative. “Ah, here we are: Renenutet, who nursed the pharaoh from birth…” she raised an eyebrow, “...until death. Oh, and she could slaughter her enemies with her gaze. Well, that’s clearly me, isn’t it?” She smirked at Nero, who caressed her foot and gently kissed just below the ankle. “You look like him,” she teased, “Sobek. He’s quite built.” She turned the book, tapping the image as Nero’s blush intensified, “Except the head, but I suppose nobody’s perfect.” She shrugged as Nero playfully snarled, grazing his teeth at her ankle and gently biting along her calf. He continued biting, slowly working his way up the length of her leg she laughed gleefully, swatting at him with his pocket notepad. “Help!” she chortled, “I’m being assaulted by an attack alligator of mythic proportion!” She continued swatting until he stopped at her stomach, resting his cheek against it and sighing contentedly. 

 

Minuet turned her wrists, feeling the cold metal shift against itself as she sat with a queer smirk on her face. Everything had gone to plan, and now she merely had to wait until these pawns fell away and she conquered the board. She sighed, wondering how much longer this trip would be.   
The helicopter touched down, and Minuet calmly stood between the Kingman agents and followed them to the interrogation room, where she was offered tea and left alone. She rubbed her now freed wrists, curious for what was to come as she studied the simple walls of this cell quietly. The Kingsman agents said nothing, locking the chamber and continuing to the dining room to report the mission to Arthur, who waited with Edwin for the formal debriefing and to make a final toast in honor of their fallen colleague. Eggsy lingered behind them, surveying the chamber and Minuet for several moments to conquer his emotions before joining his mentor.

 

Harry stood beside Edwin, watching as the junior agents slowly filed into the dining room. “At the risk of further damage to our relationship, I must ask,” he whispered low, “there isn’t a device for Agent Lancelot in your lab I hope?” Edwin looked up from his tablet, staring in disbelief at the side of Arthur’s head, his offended study largely ignored. “The Guinevere model was a _prototype_ ,” Edwin explained, “it was the only one, Arthur.” Edwin huffed, his eyes wide as he considered Arthur’s question and its implications. “Do you really think I keep a closet full of cubes down there,” he asked Arthur, “like a Jarvis collective?”   
“Who?” Arthur asked, his expression puzzled. He looked back to Edwin, who shook away the inquiry as he closed his eyes and shook his head. “Nothing,” he replied, taking a step forward, “After all this time,” he muttered, “I thought you respected what I brought to this organization.”

Harry was shaken by this, but before he could address the comment Eggsy filed into the room and joined the other agents at the table. With all the agents reporting, the time had come to lead the group in the most unfortunate of their traditions and toast a fallen colleague. Harry left Edwin for another day and stepped to the head of the table, facing his agents with a somber expression. “It is never easy to lose an agent…” Arthur began, watching as Edwin left the room, “and I wish that time or experience could soften the impact of your grief; but the truth is often bitter and sometimes disquieting. Time will not change that reality.” Harry looked at Eggsy briefly before he continued, “I knew Roxy. I admired her ambition and strength.” Harry lifted the decanter and poured his dram, blinking idly as he returned the stopper slowly. “I am sorry she is gone,” he said softly, before lifting his glass before the table, “To Lancelot.” 

Every agent then tipped back their brandy except Gareth, who sat there running her fingers along the glass. Harry rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention as he softly asked her, “Are you alright?” His question made her immediately self-conscious, and she looked back to the table in an effort to avoid the looks she felt certain were coming from the other agents around the table. “It could have been me,” she admitted, her voice low, “and I feel terribly about Lancelot. I liked her very much, but…” Gareth’s lip quivered and she stopped, shifting the brandy along the table mat as she found her words, “I keep thinking of the poem, ‘some of us tell stories of our quests’, and then I wonder: do we?” She looked back at Arthur, “Some of us live to tell these stories, don’t we?” Harry pursed his lips, blinking a few times.   
“Yes we do,” he answered simply, “you are proof of it. As am I.” 

Harry looked to Eggsy, who motioned to the door as he made his exit with Harry following closely behind him. The men walked to the elevator, entering together as Eggsy huffed. “Do you really think we will get something important out of Vasiliev?” he asked, his rage plain in the small space. Harry looked at him, aware of the grief felt by all the agents but saying nothing. The elevator chimed as it reached the lower floors, and Harry cleared his throat, “I believe she is what’s important,” he answered, “and though I had my reservations about this course it is what we chose, Galahad. We now have to stay the course and see it through.” Eggsy looked over at him, noting the half-hearted, exhausted tone in his voice. Harry looked weary as he took the hall, continuing to the cell. “Gareth asked me: do some of us live to tell our stories,” he confessed, “I didn’t have the heart to tell her what a curse that can be.” He didn’t look back, opening the cell and stepping inside. 

“Minuet Vasiliev,” he addressed sternly, “you have been detained under suspicion of criminal conspiracy, sedition, terrorism, and murder. This is your chance to make your confession before being surrendered to the police for your crimes.” Harry stood across from the table which separated the two in the small room, looking down at the unassuming woman in her chair. Minuet furrowed her brow, her eyes trailing as she listened in confusion before bursting into spontaneous laughter at his address. “Confess...oh my God,” she replied through her laughter, “are you joking? And sedition? You are just making things up at this point. After all I have read about the impressive Harry Hart, I must say this is quite the disappointing entrance.”   
“Are you saying you do not wish to make a confession?” Harry responded.  
“I have nothing to confess,” Minuet said, her eyes shining in defiance, “nothing whatsoever.”

Harry sighed audibly. He had little interest in playing philosophical games with a criminal, least of all the one possibly responsible for taking away his wife and fellow agents. He walked around the table, pushing it clear of them with his foot as he took a knee and cuffed Minuet’s hands to the chair to secure her. “Not very gentlemanly,” Minuet criticized, “is this where you threaten me? Attempt to hasten some frightened admission under duress?” Harry said nothing as he closed the cuffs, but Minuet was unimpressed, clicking her tongue in judgement of his approach. “An entire organization of men congratulating themselves on their refinement, and behold,” she said snidely, “your chivalry evanesces by the minute. Gentleman first and foremost indeed…”  
“You are no lady,” Harry replied softly as he lifted to his feet, now standing over her. She looked up at him, the piercing grey of her eyes menacing though her face was stoic and calm. 

“So it is contingent, this gentility?” Minuet asked, “Curious. We may not be that different, you and I. In a different circumstance we could have been colleagues, had you been a less allegiant subject perhaps. We are equally dogmatic, I suspect - we just respect different bearers of the crown.” Harry watched as Minuet shrugged, adding nothing as the silence consumed the cell.  
“I don’t believe you and I have anything in common,” Harry dismissed simply. He leaned against the table very near her as she stared out at nothing, drawing her out by starving the interaction.  
“You want us to have nothing in common,” Minuet replied, “like you want me to be feral, undeserving of your respect or your code. If I fail to meet that standard, it must be easier for you to resort to brutality. That’s why I always admired Sully: he took responsibility for his actions. He never blamed his nature on the shortcomings of others. He had real integrity.” 

“He murdered people,” Harry countered in disgust, “he made a business out of killing people that got in his way. He prospered from that brutality, Mrs. Vasiliev. That was your partner.”  
Minuet’s eyes narrowed, “But not yours? How many people did Sophie Hollander destroy in her time as a Kingsman? Hm? You forgive her the same behaviour you condemn in my love,” Minuet sighed, licking her lips as she remarked, “Your bias is showing, Harry.”   
Harry clenched his fist before thinking better of engaging her in this line of reasoning. Perhaps this was how she justified his actions, but it served no purpose to debate that. He was there to obtain a confession from her, but before he could consider how to direct her back to the subject she continued, “You should temper that impulse in the future. Your bias got that poor girl cremated, after all.” Minuet simply dropped her observation as she sat, emotionless.

“That was not about me,” Harry demanded, losing control of his temper momentarily as he left the table and took a step toward her, “I am not taking responsibility for that evil.” Harry realized as he said the words that he had made a mistake, and considered whether to end the interview right at that moment. However, he knew that doing so would be a calculated loss on his part, as Vasiliev would relish having bested him in this first engagement. Determined to deny her that satisfaction, he decided to continue and focused on how to create a similar emotional reaction in their prisoner. Minuet looked pleased as she smugly replied, “Nor should you - that harvest was **mine**. She returned her calculating stare to Harry and he saw his in as he drew a single deep breath, “Is that what you think power is? Seems so facile, confusing a willingness to destroy other people with personal strength. I imagined a much more compelling foe in you.”

“And now insults?” Minuet said, “You didn’t imagine much, seeing as how you’ve only just discovered me. Tell me, what’s it like being a fool for twenty-eight years?” She looked at Harry, who only met her gaze in judgemental silence. “Personal strength,” she spat, “Do you have any idea what it is like to lose everything you’ve ever loved in the world in a single night? To have to continue the next day as though nothing happened when the only happiness you’ve ever had has been torn away from you?”  
“Yes I do,” Harry answered honestly, “the same night.”  
For a moment, Harry saw the fleeting commonality Vasiliev had alluded to and he wondered if in that moment he might’ve softened her resolve and opened the door to her confession.  
“What?” Minuet responded, incredulous, “Am I supposed to feel sorry? For you?” 

Harry stared at her, at a loss for her icy retort. Minuet sniffed, shaking her head slowly as her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed in simmering rage. “That woman ruined everything,” she seethed, looking back at him as her vexation boiled over, “with her arrogance. The hubris of it!” Harry slowly leaned back, allowing her to vent her fury in watchful restraint. “Then…” she elaborates, “I **warn** you and what do you do but rush out to meddle. Again!” Minuet hummed to herself, softly biting her lower lip as she registered the unthinkable nature of the event. “You have no one to blame but yourself in these events. You involve yourself in the business of others with **no regard** for the unbalance you create, and I’m supposed to feel sorry for you her? For you?” her loquacity pouring out in anger, “For what? Nothing. After all this, nothing. I am going to walk out of here. I allowed this to happen.”

“Did you?” Harry said spitefully, “This entire exercise was a successful plan, including the murder of one of my agents?” Harry delicately avoided discussing Guinevere, keeping his own emotions subdued as he inquired, “Is that so?”  
“Aw, have I offended you?” Minuet asked, raising an eyebrow, “You won’t believe me as I tell you I allowed this. Your ego won’t allow it, but ask yourself: how was Renate able to leave so easily? Why did I remain when she did not? Why didn’t I shoot to kill when your agent found me?” Harry’s expression softened slightly as he listened, worry creeping into his mind at her confidence. “Your ego will not allow you to see what is plain,” Minuet explained, “It isn’t all gangsters and madmen. I work for the government of my country, and several others.” Her eyes narrowed but her tone sweetened as she asked, “Do you?”

Harry felt the dread slowly sweep over him as Minuet said calmly, “Renate has already reached my contacts in the government. The embassy will no doubt be in contact with your own government and I will be back home within a day. As I said: you’ve accomplished nothing here.”  
She looked at him, her upset burned away to a lingering pity as she sighed and tapped her cuffed wrists against the side of the chair.   
“We could share this information,” Harry responded, “expose your seedy business to the world.”  
Minuet chuckled darkly at this, gazing up at him with the clear advantage. “Is that justice?” she mused, raising her brows in amusement, “Such a gentlemanly way to face a conflict.” She smiled, licking her lips to relish the stillness in the air, “Do it Harry. Make me famous if it’s your only move. I won’t even be upset about it.” 

“In fact,” Minuet shrugged, “it might even help drum up new business. It’s a frightening world we live in. Nothing is certain anymore, least of all goodness.”  
Harry felt his blood pressure rising, with his heart pounding in his ears as he watched Minuet’s casual demeanor. He knew with diplomatic status it was entirely possible that her plan would work and she would again be out of his grasp; which was a reality that made him feel lost. He found the sensation akin to sinking, and he was reminded of that awful day inside the church. “Do you want to hear the funniest part?” Minuet offered, “leaning in to draw his attention, “I was going to retire before that day. I had no financial concerns, Sully and I were expecting…” Minuet’s smile grew as she remembered, “everything seemed so promising. Then your wife arrived, and now I don’t really have a choice in the matter. You can’t be trusted to refrain from revenge, I see that now.”

Minuet shook her head sadly, as though her conclusion were tragically unavoidable. Harry waited for the garrulity of their detainee to betray her once more, as Vasiliev looked around the cell. “Still, it is nice to share a connection at this age. A calling, if you forgive the parlance. Since I can’t trust that you will accept your loss and let me be, I will have to frighten you so horrifically that this pursuit becomes unthinkable. It’s the only way.”   
She shrugged nonchalantly, granting an indifference to her logic that seemed to make it all the more frightening to Harry. He had sought to close this chapter of criminality and give some heartened closure to his beloved, only to reignite a potent and dangerous foe that even he might not be able to contain. “I see why you like the chap, Unwin. He must be your favourite, such flair for the work. I sure hope that isn’t dulled when the baby comes…”

Harry stopped, his blood running cold at her comment. His face belied his fear, for Vasiliev saw it and asked, “Did you not know? Well, it’s early yet, and one never knows what the future holds in such matters. I understand it’s a transformative experience, either way.” Her threat laid so softly before Harry sent him reeling, and he blinked away butterflies as he tried to calculate his next move across from this monster. Minuet huffed, looking above the door hopefully before sweeping the room for a clock. Harry rested his palm on the table, trying to calm his frayed nerves as he looked at this small woman and tried to comprehend her threat. He thought of Lee, and then he tried to imagine how he could keep Eggsy’s family safe. _Family! He’s going to be a father!_ Harry pondered this as his thoughts fell on Sophie - in the simple cotton slip, her body so still as he wept over it, crushing her final sentiment in his clenched fist. 

“I wonder how long it will take the embassy to find me here,” Minuet mused, “Since I’m on England, I may as well do a bit of shopping before I pop over to Sweden and meet the princess. Sully used to do this part, but don’t cast me out…” Harry’s fog cleared and he pounced on Vasiliev, cutting her sentence off as he throttled her suddenly. Minuet looked into his eyes with an expression of curiosity, as though she were puzzled by his action. She seemed at first certain he was merely having a momentary lapse of reason, before lifting her hands only to have them stop against her restraints. Panic filled her face as she struggled against the cuffs while Harry increased pressure on her throat. “If my wife were here, this is where she would stop me,” Harry confessed, “She would appeal to my humanity, remind me I am a good man, and that justice should prevail.” Harry continued strangling Vasiliev as she looked up at him helplessly.

“If my wife _were_ here, but Guinevere has left Camelot,” Harry said bitterly, “I am not Galahad anymore. That is why I am ending this here, now." Harry simply stared into Minuet’s wide, grey eyes until her struggling ceased. Her eyes remained open, but Harry watched the life leave them before he relaxed his grip and straightened, taking a step back from her. He listened to the commotion as the cell was unlocked and Eggsy and Edwin entered in shock. “What on Earth, Arthur?” Galahad demanded, looking past him at the prisoner. Harry caught his breath, saying nothing for several moments before he looked back at the men. “Review the tape,” he explained, “she made a credible threat to the organization. Then have extraction return her to the sight, and try to retrieve Roxy’s remains for her family. As far as I’m concerned, Minuet Vasiliev was a casualty of this mission. End of.”

Harry wiped his face, swallowing to calm himself before turning and making his way to the door. He stopped beside Edwin, briefly resting a hand on his shoulder. “I do respect what you do,” he said, “and you as a person. I am sorry if I have failed to adequately show that in the past, Edwin.” Edwin looked down, nodding slowly to accept the apology. “As for the 4386,” he continued, drawing Edwin’s focus back to his eyes, “if you feel strongly that it is in order, I urge you to file it. I will face whatever you decide when I return from decompression, and I only hope it will not affect our relationship moving forward.” Edwin nodded, this time his eyes not leaving Harry’s as Harry looked to Eggsy, who was checking the body of Vasilev. “I need you to hold things together here for a few days,” Harry directed, “while I take Sophie to Gloriana.” Eggsy pursed his lips, nodding as he watched his weary mentor turn and leave the cell before looking to Edwin and back as Minuet’s discolored face.


	10. Evocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last piece of the Sophie Hollander Story. I want to thank every single one of you for reading and sharing this journey with me. It has been the most wonderful experience, creating this character for for you. 
> 
> Please consider checking my other works, as a Minuet story will be coming soon. I will post updates on my Tumblr, you can find my musings there. 
> 
> All my love. I hope you enjoy the finale.

“I do have a favourite memory of Sophie Hollander, if you’d like to hear it.” 

Harry pulled each can from his woven bags before placing them into the cabinets and securing the doors into place. He did not wait for a response before he continued recalling the sleepy Wednesday, unremarkable in so many ways yet unforgettable for Harry. 

"You don’t have to get me fancy things Harry,” Sophie commented, straddling his lap as he rested against the headboard of the bed. Harry squeezed her hips immediately, countering, “I have to give you everything, Canary. I owe you the fires of Prometheus. I owe you trapped lightning. I must seek to commission the painter of a perfect sunset, saved only for you,” Harry punctuated his asseveration, kissing her chin softly, “because you have given me your heart.”   
Sophie sighed, lifting her leg over his waist before sliding down the bed and resting against Harry’s thigh.

Harry admired her as she fixed a vacant stare which lingered on the ceiling above her bed. “Give me time…” she muttered before letting her mind drift. Harry considered the remark, gingerly stroking along the part on top of her head. “You may have all of mine,” he purred in response, “provided you spend it with me.”   
“Deal,” Sophie replied happily, her eyes returning to him as she smiled. She captured his hand, weaving her fingers between his in the quiet of the day. “Remember when I told you I had to leave every part of myself behind to face a mission? Well, it's not entirely true. I do leave behind my name, my voice and often my language - but I always have these moments. Out there in the dark, alone,” Sophie explained. “When I am certain I might die it's this that I keep close to me. Days just like this, with you. One day this will be the memory that keeps me alive.”

Harry paused, looking around the cabin of Gloriana and for a moment lost as he remembered. “It was a day like a dozen other days,” Harry explained aloud, “but it wasn’t. Every tiny detail brings me such joy, that I am unable to explain it. We were just married. She was so full of life.” Harry stopped talking, shrugging at his loss to articulate the importance of a single ordinary day.  
“I believe I understand,” the cube answered, Sophie’s voice flat and void of emotion as it did. The pain washed over Harry’s face as the cube continued, “Would you like me to add this account to the official record of Sophie Hollander Hart’s life?”   
“No thank you,” Harry answered, placing the woven bags into the kitchen storage before walking to the table and sitting across from the Epimetheus project cube. Harry looked down at the cube, carefully choosing each word so as to not override the mainframe and force a reboot of the system. Harry always imagined it to be a painful experience.

Gloriana rocked gently, carried along on the mild surf while Harry remained below deck. Beyond his first charting, he had paid little attention to his course while this preoccupation consumed him. He could justify this avoidance in his ship’s log or to his worried mind once this mortal quandary found its conclusion. Until then, he was as much adrift as his vessel - a speck of organic tossed upon a solution abundant with life but granting none. He stared at the cube, its soft glow haunting him as he tried desperately to see some future for his wife that didn’t seem like torture to him. Edwin was nearing retirement age, and though Harry knew he would never give up on Sophie it was unlikely this was a nut he would be able to crack. Even if he did, Harry wondered what sort of future or eternity might take shape from such advancements. He had vowed to cherish Sophie Hollander until death, and Harry Hart would never break that vow. 

“Sophie…” Harry whispered, his hushed voice breaking slightly as he drew a breath, “it’s Harry my love. Please engage at full capacity.” He watched the soft light of the cube brighten and transition from white to a soft yellow before a notably sweeter tone sounded from it.   
“Hello Harry,” she cooed simply. The tears flowed from him with no hesitation as he heard the love in her voice. “Am I still in the lab?” she asked carefully, a reticence in her voice that suggested an awareness of the limitations to her neural framework.   
“No,” Harry answered, wiping his face, “you are sailing on Gloriana with me, Canary. Just the two of us.”   
“I’m surprised Edwin would allow for such a thing,” Sophie noted, “he’s always so careful with prototypes in his lab.”

“He didn’t allow it,” Harry confessed, “I stole you away.” Harry smiled as a gasp rang from the cube. She really was his beloved wife, and her little sighs cut him clean through in their sincerity. “You always said you’d find me,” Sophie said, “no matter where I was, you would find me.”  
“If you needed me,” Harry replied, brushing his fingertips over the cube. Her voice was so clear and warm that Harry wanted to break the cube in the hope of releasing her. Her last visit was simply not enough, and Harry was beginning to accept that he would never know enough when it came to her. Each day would simply be another with her loss still inside him, an abscess where his love decayed.   
“Where are we sailing?” the cube asked, shaking Harry from his thoughts.   
“I hadn’t planned,” Harry admitted, “we’re a bit adrift. Truth be told, I’ve been adrift for some time now. Since you…”

“Didn’t you get my letter?” Sophie asked, her concerned tone soothing Harry’s disquiet.   
“I did,” he confirmed, “beautiful words from your own elegant hand. I am just…finding myself unwilling to let you go, even when I know I should.” Harry retrieved the unopened Christmas gift, kept since her passing and admired the ornate wrapping of the box. “I have a gift,” Harry explained to the cube, “saved from Christmas. I’ve been keeping it for the right moment and I believe this is that moment at last.”  
“Not a present for me,” Sophie scoffed, “Harry…”  
“A gift from you,” Harry corrected, “I’m quite curious about it, actually.”  
“A gift from me?” Sophie cooed, “How exciting! I hope I got it right. You were always so difficult to shop for, meanwhile you’re constantly lavishing me with lovely treasures. It’s unfair.”

Harry smiled at her lighthearted sulking, feeling the foil along the wrapped package. “Well?” she called to him, “Open it! I can’t wait to hear what I got you.” Harry’s smile intensified as he pulled the bow and lifted the lid of the box. He rifled through the colorful tissue paper, parting it to expose a large silver frame containing a single black and white portrait of Sophie. Harry gasped when he saw it, lifting the heavy frame as he felt the intricate weave of the silver which formed like branches around her. “It’s you,” Harry whispered, “a portrait of you.”  
“Have I not given you those already?” Sophie asked curiously, “Strange. I wonder why I waited.”  
“Those?” Harry asked, returning to the box to discover a cache of photographs, candidly taken in various places over what seemed to be years. “You said you wished you had a photograph,” the cube explained, “just one. I couldn’t very well take one. What if you didn’t like it?”

Harry stared at Sophie’s perfect poise, immortalized in monochrome. “I love it,” he said gently, “It’s the best gift you’ve ever given me.” His gaze swept over her curls as her smile beamed back at him. She looked full of love, prideful in the knowledge that she was creating something beautiful for him alone. Harry wanted to look at all of the photographs, but knew he would be unable to keep his emotions at bay. Not wanting to risk overwhelming the cube, he gently returned the frame to the box and wrapped it in the tissue paper. “Thank you Canary,” he effused, “you’ve no idea what a comfort this gift will prove to me.” He replaced the lid to the giftbox, clearing his throat to ebb his tears and regain his composure.   
“Harry, do you think I’m in Heaven?” the cube asked innocently, “Do you think it’s possible that I am here, asking you while also there, since I’ve died?”

“I suppose I shouldn’t ask,” she mused aloud, “it’s not very pious, now is it? But I do won-wonder…” Harry caught the glitch, trying to recall how many questions he asked as he considered her question and his reason for booting the cube. “Everything alright?” he asked gently, “Do you need a rest?” Harry realised he did not know how to comfort this version of Sophie, a sensation he found unfamiliar and deeply uncomfortable. The glow faded from the cube for a moment before the flat, emotionless voice responded, “I can attempt to dismiss some processes, which should help my performance. Please wait.” Harry watched as the cube’s light switched back to white, before fading to red for several silent moments. Each time emotion left her voice, Harry’s heart broke a little more as he acknowledged she was not his wife. Not truly. His breath caught in his chest as he waited for her return, noting each passing second.

The yellow glow returned as the cube came online. “That’s better,” it said, her voice again animated and full of personality, “where was I?”  
“You were pondering the place your spirit rests,” Harry answered kindly, “but I have it on good authority that Sophie is somewhere peaceful. Somewhere good.” Harry smiled as he said this, his eyes shining as he remembered her glow the last time she appeared to him. She seemed so serene and peaceful in each visit to him, free from all fear and worry she carried in her life.   
“Wait, what authority?” the cube asked, confused. Harry considered how to answer the question before responding, “Sophie, my Sophie, left me clues to a mystery she had been working on. It’s how I found you, actually. I was tracking hidden symbols which uncovered a villain operating without our knowledge at Kingsman. We missed it, but Sophie did not.”

“That wasn’t a mystery,” the cube replied, “those symbols were a hunch, but I gave it up years ago, after Arthur dismissed my idea about Sullivan Nero operating a front. I didn’t leave it for anyone - I just abandoned it.”   
Harry stared at the cube in disbelief. The tone was completely dismissive, as though there were really nothing to his discovery. For the first time, Harry wondered if he had misread the signals this entire time. “That can’t be,” Harry reasoned through his confusion, “you visited me. You told me how to find clues. You told me the reason you came to me was to help me find the answer.”   
Harry blinked several times, recalling those supernatural exchanges as he looked for how he could have misunderstood all this time.  
“And you…were right! We discovered Minuet Vasiliev, Nero’s partner and I took her out.”

“Doesn’t sound like me,” the cube replied lightly, “are you sure I wasn’t there to help you? That sounds much more like me. I’ve never heard of this Minuet person, but I worried about you all the time. It’s inside me now, that worry. It’s a part of who, or what, I am.” Harry tried to understand her, yet he was confused as to how he could have been so confused. “What would she worry about concerning me now? Why tell me she came to help me find what I was looking for? What else could that mean?”  
Harry listened as the cube pondered his questions until he worried that he might’ve overloaded her processors when she responded, “Perhaps she worried the loss and changes left you adrift. Arthur will be all that remains of you if you don’t learn how to navigate your grief.”

“Grief is an ocean you must learn to sail,” he muttered, remembering her gentle advice.   
“Oooh, I like that,” she cooed, “that’s quite clever.”   
The comment made Harry laugh sickly, his tears spilling as he gasped for a calming breath, “She said that too - that Arthur would be all that remains. I remember it.”  
“Well, you are very fond of being Galahad. All things come to an end, my dearest one.” 

 

Harry looked away, letting his broken heart grieve openly as he considered how overwhelmed he had been all this time. Sophie had been right, of course - he had surrendered to the tide. It pulled him out and away from every part of himself and he allowed it; because feeling that badly was the only thing that compared to being so much in love. “You worry about me?” he asked, somewhat embarrassed to have never considered that possibility. The cube hummed, which transformed into the melody Harry recognised as “Cloudbusting” by Kate Bush. Sophie used to sing it softly as she fluttered around the flat, explaining how it always reminded her of him. Which, in turn, made him think of her whenever he heard it. “Edwin gave it to me,” the cube explained, “after I explained this feeling I had. One of my first feelings, actually. I didn’t know what it was. Love can look a lot like grief when you don’t recognize it. The ache is the same.” 

“He was always a good friend to you,” Harry admitted. For a few moments, he said nothing, just feeling the boat gently rock in the lonely night. The waves struck the hull, soothing him in the lull. “You want to deactivate me, don’t you?” the cube asked directly, “That’s why you took me from Edwin. He would keep me in that storage of his, forever. So you sailed away with me instead.”  
Harry’s heart leapt into his throat, but he stopped as he detected the slightest relief in her voice. “Edwin wants to continue to develop your technology,” Harry reasoned, “but Edwin is almost sixty years old. He has been with Kingsman even longer than I have. If he doesn’t, or can’t, then you will be trapped in this configuration forever.” Harry swallowed, sighing audibly before he continued, “I cannot bear the idea of you, forgotten and alone while so aware. It must be intolerable to not know your own fate while in such solitude.”

“It’s confusing,” the cube clarified. Harry listened, bewildered at what to do and hoping for a sign in this exchange. “When everything stops, it’s like falling asleep but without dreaming. I wake, and the first thing I hope for is your voice. Then you finally came, and you told me I was dead.”   
Harry swallowed, his heart sinking at her simple description. He didn’t know what he could say to comfort her, but before he could attempt, the cube commented, “I don’t think I want to wake someday and you and Edwin are gone. I don’t want to remain on the promise of a possible chance at application, though I do hate to let Edwin down. He was always so hopeful for me.” Harry lifted this unthinkable object, so small yet so intimidating. Part of him wanted to keep it - but in doing so, he'd become a different man. It was in this breath that he finally understood what Tennyson meant concerning purity and strength. “Leave Edwin to me,” Harry assured her, “I will make certain he understands your choice.” 

“I love you Guinevere,” Harry whispered to the cube, his tears returning without restraint.  
“Do not worry Arthur,” Sophie consoled him, “we will be reunited in Heaven, I pray.”  
Harry said nothing further, turning the cube over and holding the command button until the light flashed four warnings and then the cube powered down and the whirring within ceased. As he felt the vibration within grow still, he thought of Minuet in those final moments and then of the first time he’d ever seen Sophie Hollander. She returned to help him find the path; and like a beacon before his breaking shore, she called him home. Harry held the cube a final moment, then wrapped it in her scarf and returned it to his leather bag. He now knew exactly what he needed to do when he returned to Kingsman HQ to face the quorum concerning his 4386 filing. It was time to bid farewell to Galahad as well, and become the Arthur he was meant to be. 

 

“He’s here!” Bertram hissed as he walked past Edwin and entered the lab. Edwin looked up from his notes, puzzled before he took Bertram’s meaning. “Where?” Edwin asked, his tone a bit boyish and innocent as he set his tablet down and turned his focus to Bertram. Bertram seemed zealous to share his bit of gossip, lifting the bag from his teacup and dropping it into the trash before he responded, “I saw him walking to his office, like it was an ordinary day.” There was something in his assistant’s description that Edwin didn’t like, as though his excitement told him there was much chatter within Kingsman concerning their director. “It is an ordinary day,” Edwin corrected, his tone chiding, “return to your desk. I will need those schematics done by lunch - no excuses.” Bertram nodded slowly, the rebuke not lost on him as he walked back to his desk. Edwin watched him a moment before he turned and left the lab to investigate. 

Edwin approached Arthur’s office, only to discover the door open. Inside, Harry was standing with his back to the door as he arranged the items on his desk. Edwin leaned forward on his toes, clearing his throat to alert Harry to his presence as he rolled back on his arches. Harry turned back, looking at Edwin with a quiet but cheerful expression. “Good morning Edwin,” he greeted, welcoming him into the office as he rounded the desk to take his seat. Edwin stepped in as he caught sight of the silver frame Harry had placed beside his desk set. Edwin figured he must have lingered on the photograph, because Harry broke the silence with, “It was a gift from Sophie. Beautiful, isn’t it?” He didn’t wait for a reply, turning to his side and rifling through his briefcase as Edwin replied, “Yes. She had excellent taste.” Harry smiled subtly at this before retrieving the wrapped cube from his case and placing it on the desk near Edwin. 

“This…” Harry explained, “belongs to you. I am sorry to have taken it as I did.” Edwin quickly collected the cube, throwing the scarf away from it as he examined his prototype carefully. He turned it over, scanning the configuration and gently tapping the interface. “You shut it down,” Edwin said, the words stumbling out of him in bemused acknowledgement as he looked up.  
“You must understand,” Harry tried to explain, “when I spoke to Guinevere, I explained my concerns and took on her opinion. In the end, I simply couldn’t see the benefit to the organization outweighing the very real possibility of her still being contained in that cube once you and I are gone.” Harry’s look fixed on Edwin, lingering as it conveyed sadness, loss, and hopeful respect. “You consulted the cube?” Edwin asked, curious as he considered the humility in Harry’s voice. “I did,” Harry answered, “and I thank you for being such a good friend to her, even there. She was right, you really never fail.”

The comment made Edwin smile meekly, as both men stole a brief glimpse at the portrait between them. “Thank you for returning this to me,” Edwin said simply, “Even failed experiments can have great personal value to me, especially this one. Guinevere…Sophie and I worked very hard on it.” Edwin admired the cube in his lap, running his thumb across the casing, “Even after she died. I really tried to build it to my standard, Arthur. I tried to do it justice.”   
“I know that,” Harry replied kindly, “but I also didn’t want you dedicating the rest of your time here trying to create Epimetheus from Pandora. Sophie would not want that legacy, either.” Harry paused as Edwin stood, taking the cube and walking to the door. “She told me,” Harry offered, “grief can look a lot like love when you don’t recognize it. That the ache is the same. Even there, she cared for you. Please don’t ache for her, my friend - I ache enough for us both.” 

“I came to wish you luck today,” Edwin responded, turning back to face Arthur, “as a friend.”  
Harry looked up to him, his smile growing as his eyes shined gratefully. The men shared a moment of quiet, before Edwin left the office in silence. He passed Eggsy, continuing down the corridor to the elevator with the cube in his hand. He pressed the button before looking back down to the cube. It was completely still, and Edwin found himself heartbroken at the knowledge. He realized that he too found the cube to be more than a simple device as he had described. Edwin had missed her, and acknowledging that made him reconsider his recent judgement of Arthur. Edwin abandoned the elevator, tucking the cube into his lab coat pocket as he rounded the corner and continued toward the staircase. He wasn’t certain what good it would do, but giving a statement on Arthur’s behalf suddenly seemed the most important thing to him. 

“I’m going to go with you,” Eggsy said, pacing before Harry’s desk slowly, “I can speak on your behalf. You’re a great agent - they can’t throw you out over one bad night.”   
“They can,” Harry mused softly, looking up at Eggsy as he stopped pacing. Eggsy looked to him, his pitiful expression drawing the paternal from his mentor. Harry pressed a button on his desk before sitting up and offering Eggsy a seat. As the charlady entered the office and set a cup of tea before them both, Harry and Eggsy sat in silence together. “Eggsy…” Harry began, carefully choosing his words as he lifted his cup and held it in his hands, “I am going to make an explanation of my actions to the best of my ability, but I am not going to disrespect the institution. I have acted outside myself and the standard of Kingsman. I cannot maintain that I am innocent of the consequences of agent exhaustion.” Harry sipped his tea, “Whatever the consequence.” 

Eggsy simply held his tea, saying nothing and looking at his shoes. He was terrified to lose his friend, and uncertain how to prevent it. “It’s going to be alright,” Harry soothed softly, calling Eggsy’s focus from the floor. Eggsy tried to understand his calm but it confused him to see Harry seemingly so calm and resolute in the face of these odds. “I watched the footage,” Eggsy said, “I heard her threat. I know why you did what you did.” Harry lowered his cup, dropping his shoulders with a light sigh. “How is Tilde?” he asked simply, a sly smirk on his face. Eggsy smiled, brightening a bit before cocking his head to the side self-consciously. “She’s good, alright? We planned to tell you, once she was a bit further along but…” Harry raised his hand, silencing his explanation with a beaming smile. When his smile conquered Eggsy’s evident anxiety, Harry responded, “Congratulations, Eggsy. It is wonderful news.” 

Harry finished his tea, returning the cup to his desk as he stood and collected his coat. Eggsy quickly stood in response to this. “Whatever happens,” Harry offered, giving his office a long look before settling on the portrait he placed that morning, “I want you to know how much I appreciate your being here to support me today.” Harry granted him a grateful look as Eggsy rested his hand on Harry’s shoulder. The men then left the office together and walked in silence to the dining room to face the quorum who will give the ruling on the Declaration of Kingsman Agent Exhaustion. The two men shared a final glance before Eggsy stepped back and Harry threw open the dining room doors to face the group. However, he opened the doors to find the room empty - apart from Olivia, who sat in the center of the table examining a stack of forms bound within a file in silence. “Agent Arthur,” she said without looking up, “please take a seat.”

Harry walked to the table, taking a seat opposite Olivia while Eggsy crept into the room and took a seat in the corner, away from the table. The air in the room was still, and Eggsy couldn’t help remembering the last time he had been arrested as he felt light, dizzying unease at the event. He looked to Harry, but only caught the back of his head as Harry kept his focus forward. Olivia finished reading, looking up at Harry with a pleasant expression before sniffing and addressing him. “Please switch your glasses to the second visual preference, and we will begin this hearing,” she instructed, waiting as Harry tapped the right bridge of his glasses until holograms appeared in the seats on either side of Olivia. Harry observed the senior department heads from Kingsman offices around the world, all signing in to hear the claims and render verdict on the charge of exhaustion. Harry felt his cheeks warm, hoping he wasn’t blushing in his shame. 

“Agent Arthur,” Olivia began, “you are here at the request of a subordinate member of Kingsman who has made a statement attesting to an erratic pattern of behaviors believed to be evidence of agent exhaustion. As this member of Kingsman is subordinate, this quorum will review the allegations and take on statements before making a final decision as to the best course of action from this point forth. That decision will become a matter of permanent record in your personnel file. Do you understand?” Harry remained very still, clearing his throat loudly before answering simply, “I do.” He thought of Sophie, remembering her frightened and offended reaction to even the suggestion of a form 4386 when he offered it as an out in Japan. She would’ve rather remained in solitary confinement than accept such a blemish on her permanent record. The thought left him strangely comforted - and beaming with pride as he held his breath in anticipation.

“There are five points in this statement,” Olivia continued, “we will take each one, weighing it against any evidence or statements we have received. Then you will be given an opportunity to explain yourself on the record.” Olivia turned to a smaller file, opening it but turning it up to read with privacy. “The first charge regards the death of Minuet Vasiliev, and your state of mind at the event and in the aftermath.” Harry watched as several of the holograms conferred with one another silently before all turning back to study him. “Arthur - it is our understanding that you recused immediately following the death of Vasiliev, and actively urged your quartermaster to file this declaration?” Harry seemed puzzled a moment by her tone before explaining, “Yes. I knew him to harbour some reservation with my actions of late, so I wanted to ensure he acted with his conscience. I knew that I had reacted in the moment, and believed a decompression was best.”

“Yes,” Olivia replied, “it is the consensus of this quorum that given the evidence recovered from the extraction site and the ample evidence of Vasiliev’s illegal and terroristic activities, your action does not meet the criteria of irregularity.” Harry stared at her, confused. He was expecting to have to defend his actions, only to met with what seemed to be indifference from the group. “Do you have anything to add on the record concerning this charge?” Olivia asked directly.   
“I do regret my actions,” Harry said, his voice a bit quiet as he continued, “in hindsight I should have ended the interview earlier. I killed a woman who was defenseless. I am ashamed of it.”   
Olivia tilted her head, listening a moment before announcing, “I yield the floor to officer Lethbridge-Stewart from the Berlin office.” Harry turned to the large gentleman in dress greens who said succinctly, “You killed a terrorist responsible for the death of an agent and threatening another. We cannot be sentimental to sex with regard to the enemy.” 

Harry watched the rest of the holograms nod in unison, somewhat let down by the resolution to dismiss his actions there. He supposed with the nature of his work, clemency lacked a place yet to see it so cleanly removed unsettled him. Olivia said nothing, flipping the page to continue as she read aloud, “There is also the matter of confiscated property of the organization, which was alleged to be taken from the labs by yourself. A prototype. Arthur, what say you in this matter?” Still reeling from the dismissal of the previous matter, Harry simply explained, “I returned the property to my quartermaster this morning. It was deactivated, by me, and for that action I can only say that I believed my actions to be the only consciencable thing to do.” Eggsy shifted in his seat, nervous as he listened to Harry’s admission. He knew Edwin had been distraught over the event, but he had no idea what the rest of the organization would think of it.

“Yes,” Olivia continued, “in fact, we have a statement on your behalf to enter at this time for consideration.” Eggsy straightened, trying to ready himself to speak on Harry’s character when Olivia lifted a form for Harry to examine. “Your quartermaster, Edwin O’Connor, has given a statement acknowledging your return of the device. He has also addressed the point of your recent hostility as stated in the declaration.” Olivia extended the handwritten statement to Harry, who accepted the form and skimmed it as he listened. “Would you agree with this statement that the shock of exposure to neurotechnical renderings of your late wife and fellow Kingsman agent left you despondent; and your behaviour in the weeks following that event could be the result of trauma?” Harry swallowed hard, skimming the words a second time before he returned the form to the desk between them. “It’s true,” he answered, “for a time, I was not myself.” 

Olivia’s eyes narrowed slightly, “Do you believe that time to be passed?”   
Harry thought about the question for several somber moments before admitted, “I don’t know, but I give you my word that I will not focus any further hostility at him or anyone else in the organization. To my shame, I believe I focused my anger at him because his prototype interrupted my grieving. I have since apologized to the member in question and I believe we have come to an understanding.” Harry went quiet, considering the kind words in his statement. Olivia scribbled something into her notes as he spoke, looking at her notebook as Harry subtly glanced at each agent patched into the meeting. “With this statement taken into account,” Olivia commented as she took notation, “I believe the issue of hostility has been addressed, provided no other member of this quorum has comment?” Olivia looked to them before affirming, “Good.”

“Agent Arthur,” Olivia said at last, turning her attention back to him, “do you feel at this time that you have the clarity and capacity to continue in your position here at Kingsman?” Eggsy held his breath, bolting from his seat before Harry could answer. “If - if I could just say,” Eggsy started, clearly nervous, “I just wanted to speak on Arthur’s behalf.” The holograms turned their attention to Eggsy, though Harry did not. “Yes,” Olivia said, “go ahead, Galahad.”  
“I know Arthur has been a bit off lately,” Eggsy began, “but he lost his wife, right? One of the most amazing agents I’ve ever met.” Harry’s expression clouded, which concerned Eggsy before he continued, “And what did he do with his grief? He opened her old cases, found a terrorist we didn’t know was there, and brought her down.” Harry lifted his head, looking back at him. “Yeah, he’s been a bit mental…” Eggsy said with a laugh, “but he’s always a Kingsman.”

Olivia blinked a few times, looking from Eggsy to Harry and back to Eggsy. “We lose people here all the time. It’s hard, which is why we need a strong leader who understands that. Arthur… is the best agent I’ve ever met. We are better with him leading us.” Eggsy stopped talking, granting a respectful nod to Harry which he subtly returned.   
“Thank you Galahad,” Olivia responded, “that will be all. Arthur, shall I repeat the question?”  
Harry sat up, “That won’t be necessary. I believe I am capable and have the clarity to commit to serving my position as head of the agency. I regret this recent rash of behavior but I can assure you,” Harry said seriously, “in my focus and my life: Arthur is what remains.”   
Olivia turned to her side, tilting her head to listen to the communication of the group in privacy. Harry looked to Eggsy, his expression soft and hopeful. “You are both dismissed. We will report our decision by the close of business today.”

Harry thanked them for their time, standing and leaving the dining room with Eggsy and walking to his office. He said nothing, continuing through the door and walking past the desk to the bar. Eggsy watched him pour a dram which he quickly threw back before he offered Eggsy a seat and poured a second brandy. “How do you think it went?” Harry asked him, slightly nervous as he set a drink on the desk before him. Harry took a seat behind his desk, turning the glass in his fingers as he stared out at nothing. “Are…are you nervous?” Eggsy asked, amused at the prospect, “that was mashup, Harry. Really, really good.”  
“You’ll forgive me,” Harry quipped, “you have more experience with facing authority than I do.”  
“Alright,” Eggsy mocked, “alright.” He lifted his glass, gesturing to the framed portrait on his desk, “You faced the charges, you didn’t make excuses and you made amends for your actions. She’d be proud of you, mate.” 

Downstairs in the lab, Edwin’s glasses buzzed. Taking the opportunity to use the supply closet for added privacy, he left his desk and carried the Epimetheus cube and unlocked the storage locker. “Go for Edwin,” he said cheerfully as he walked through the large, carefully cataloged shelves of prototypes and experiments.  
“Officer O’Connor,” Olivia called, “I wanted to share with you before I contacted Agent Arthur. The quorum has come to a consensus. We believe that, although you were right to bring these recent actions to our attention, they do not rise to a severity requiring removal of the agent.”  
“Well, I didn’t want…” Edwin began before Olivia interrupted him, continuing her point.  
“We will be directing the agent to attend four months of weekly sessions with Olivia, and to stand down any mission work until released from sessions. We hope this satisfies your concerns as expressed in your filing.” 

“It does,” Edwin acknowledged, “thank you.”   
“Thank you for your filing,” Olivia replied, ending the call. Edwin stopped for a moment, lifting the cube from his pocket and polishing it with his handkerchief. “He’s going to be alright,” he soothed the cube aloud, “don’t worry about him. I guess I can’t chat with you anymore, but maybe he and I will have this in common. If we became friends, that’d be pretty neat.” Edwin sighed, realizing he was talking to no one. “Sleep well, Guinevere,” he said, setting the cube back into it’s charging dock. Stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket, Edwin walked back down the corridor whistling softly to himself before shutting down the overhead lights and locking the cage.   
In the dark, the cube whirred softly for a second, flashed twice, and faded in the darkness.


End file.
